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alpaca-writes · 3 years

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Mystics, Chapter 12

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by the strange shopkeeper Lyrem Nomadus, everything seems to be going well- in fact, their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as it seems….

Directory: [chapter one] [chapter two] [chapter three] [chapter four] [chapter five] [chapter six] [chapter seven] [chapter eight] [chapter nine] [chapter ten] [chapter eleven]

Tag list: @myst-in-the-mirror, @livingforthewhump

CW: memory whump, psychological whump, noncon touching (nonsexual), swearing. torture mention, car accident mention

CHAPTER TWELVE: THE FUTURE IS UNCERTAIN

Store meeting. 8pm tonight. –

“And, send.” Lyrem muttered to himself, then sighed. He laid his elbow against the countertop, staring mindlessly at his phone and drank the last sip of his coffee before throwing it into the trash bin beside him. The shapeshifter was in the alley, waiting for their cue. All Lyrem needed now, was Arch. A slight flittering sound alerted him to a new text.

Omw.

Perfect. Everything was in motion. Everything was going to work out. Arch needed a little more push. Just a slight nudge to keep them interested in working for him. The farther they went, the harder it would be to return to innocence. He couldn’t allow them the chance to turn away. He needed to awaken their memories naturally. He needed them to be lost in their fury. He needed them to take that extra step- he needed them to kill. And who better to help them to do that than-

The front door flew open in a rage. Lyrem was faced with a version of himself blazoning with passionate anger. His eyes were red, his face was pink. He looked as though…

“What happened to you?” He asked himself. The other Lyrem wiped a stray unstoppable tear from his face.

“Oh, you’ll fucking find out!” He shouted. He travelled through the store and directly entered the employee washroom. He remained in there for several minutes before emerging with his face rinsed but still tender. He announced to his other self, still in a fit. “I’m taking the SUV.”

The present Lyrem raised a brow, then returned to staring at his texts. It wasn’t often that he dared cross himself within a time-stream.

“Just don’t crash the damn thing.” He hollered, but his future self was already gone through the back.

-----

The Labyrinth.

Arch had only ever heard of it.

What they knew was simply that it was a place of emptiness. It was a place where nothing existed. A place where suffering, joy, life and death ceased to be. It was also a place that stole you from the world. A step into the depths of the Labyrinth and you’d be forgotten to all. Forgotten to the whole world- except for the very one who had tossed you in. Even on Earth, the Labyrinth would ensure you’d never exist there either- not even in a memory. It wasn’t like simple Latin blood magic. This was a loss to endure forever.

Now, they saw it, and it was much less impressive than they expected. Lyrem had propped open the back door as Arch held onto the man’s body- or the person they were to assume was the man. But… Arch knew better than to believe everything they heard. They were reminded of the policeman, Grenn, and what he had said a week ago-

“How does a guy walk away from a car crash with a Bowie stuck in his leg?”

At the time, it wasn’t as important to know how the man got away, as much as it was important to find him. Lyrem seemed sure that they had found him, but Arch wasn’t so sure- especially not after they leaned into his right leg. There wasn’t anything remotely close to a reaction from him. The knife was buried at lease two inches into his leg, of that, Arch was certain; and no one could heal from that in a week. The Labyrinth wouldn’t be pleasant, certainly, but at least they weren’t about to kill an innocent man.

“Well?” Lyrem touted, “What are you waiting for?”

Arch looked up and down the empty alleyway. Usually, Lyrem’s vehicle would be blocking the view of the street from the alley’s entrance, but it wasn’t around tonight. Maybe it was at a mechanics’; maybe Arch would get lucky.

“Nothing,” they said, dismally. They propped the man up, who was now completely unconscious from a second well-placed blow to the head, and kicked him forward into the darkness.

Lyrem closed the door after the shapeshifter.

“I am proud of you, Arch,” he said, but this time, it sounded skeptical. Like he was testing them. He could see the change in their demeanour and he measured what this new version of Arch might mean for him.

“That wasn’t the man, was it?” They postulated. Lyrem squirmed under their gaze. He nodded apologetically, and gave a half smile.

“Too clever for your own good,” he praised warmly. Approaching, he clasped his hands together. “You caught me. That was not the Man- though you certainly put him in his place, didn’t you? The Labyrinth… I would choose death over the Labyrinth a hundred times over if given a choice. Quite diabolical of you to choose the Labyrinth.”

Arch stepped backward, nearly tripping over their own feet to do so. Lyrem regarded their movement keenly, and furrowed his brows.

“What’s wrong, Arch?”

“Nothing,” they mumbled, looking away, towards the door. “What… was he? Why did he look like the man?”

“Oh,” Lyrem realized. “He is a shapeshifter. Hard beings to find, I will admit but for this particular job, he did just perfect. Well worth the expense I think.”

Arch squinted their eyes at Lyrem, who was so comfortable with the idea of tossing people away.

“So, he was like you?” Arch alleged tentatively. “A… a monster?”

Lyrem stepped forward at the accusation, towering himself over the kid that he regarded so highly. A sharp betrayal stung him in the chest. He had almost forgotten that his future self had visited him to retrieve the SUV. He may finally know exactly what set him off into such a fury.

“Say that again.”

Arch stammered and stumbled over their words, their hands finding their way to their pocket where their phone was missing, but the mace, thankfully, remained. Lyrem stopped them with a finger to their lips, resulting in an upsetting silence from Arch.

“I am not a monster,” he stated. “What I am is a bestower of great gifts. I gave you dominance and power over those who have oppressed you and you would lower me to the tier of a shapeshifter- a monster?”

Arch was shaking now, unable to move any further away, and too fearful to object to his statements.

“You promised me your life, your devotion to this work that I do. Arch, if I am truly a monster in your eyes, then you need not fear me any more than the one that stares back at you from a mirror.”

Lyrem lowered his fingers, and took a deep breath.

“I will forgive you, Arch. I will forgive you because I care about you, and because you did something very difficult for me today.” Lyrem raised his arm again, setting a hand on their shoulder. “And I suspect you are still trying to remember everything that you and I have done together. So… I apologize if this experience was… rattling.”

“My…” Arch mumbled, still stricken with a sense of danger that was overwhelming them, reason and all. “My mom… she warned me…”

The memories were fading… They were fading quickly. But their mom… their mom?... told them… somebody told them not to trust this man. The man with the gem shop. The man who forced them to work late. The man who taught them what power truly was.

This was the man they feared. And they feared him more than anything else in the world.

The lid of the mace hit the alleyway’s pavement, rolling into a gutter of the road. The hiss of the spray and the following spewed insults, were enough of a distraction for Arch to run into the street after they had thrown the emptied canister into the old man’s face. The only thing screaming in their mind was the knowledge that they had to return home and not Lyrem’s well chosen words that echoed down to them as he followed them at a slower pace to the sidewalk.

“YOU UNGRATEFUL WRETCH!”

Arch flew down the many streets, pushing past the evening street-walkers if needed. Their legs fought them the whole way; still recovering from the bruises from the crash and their back still feeling the panging effects from the whiplash that caused a near-constant aching. For now, they couldn’t care less. They needed to get home. They needed to be safe. They needed…

For whatever reason, a visual of Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore popped into their head. There was something about it that was wrong. There was something missing. Someone missing. Who was telling them about that ridiculous movie, again?

Who would be waiting for them at the house? They thought.

Maleficent. That stupid cat.

People lived with other people though, didn’t they? Families. They realized. That was what it was called. They had one of those. Human families. Siblings and grandparents and fathers and…

They reached the end of their block, their own face worn from the fears of that night and exhausted from everything that had been revealed to them. They weren’t a monster… They couldn’t be.

They were Arch. They were a stupid high school student who had a part-time job. They had friends... they had little hobbies… they failed Spanish class.

They also tortured Kyle. They flayed his skin so that Lyrem could dry them and use them as paper for certain macabre spell work.

The more they ran with the knowledge of what they had done and who they had hurt, the harder it was to continue… the easier it was to give up. Their knees buckled, hitting the sidewalk pavement with force. Out of breath, and feeling nauseous, Arch’s forehead met the hot ground next; their arms and hands curled around their head as they threatened to pull their own hair out as a means of distraction from their horrible reality.

“There you are…”

Arch gulped, and merely wept, soaking the sidewalk in a small spot where their face was supported only by their forearms. They felt a firm grasp pulling them up by the elbow, and they succumbed to its demands. Their knees were torn into by stray pebbles, tossed on from the boulevards- some were still small enough to remain stuck beneath their there, leaving specks of red across their skin.

“Wh-where…” Arch started to say- though they didn’t entirely know what they were trying to ask as a fog of grief and anger and fear poured over them. “Where’s… my…”

It was exhausting, trying to remember exactly what was so wrong- why they couldn’t stand to be around Lyrem right now- and despite their best efforts to pull away, he dutifully remained by their side as they walked the rest of the street together. Slowly they arrived at the front door of the house.

Maleficent sat there at the top of the porch, waiting; her blue eyes peering judgmentally at the kid as they found their way up the stairs. A long grey tail swept from side to side lazily, then she proceeded to lick herself.

Lyrem closed them into the house; the scent of burning paper filling it. He had lit a small fire in the living room and stacked several small Rubbermaid containers beside it- one of which, sitting on the raised slate hearth was half empty.

The futon was roughly shoved back into the form of a couch. Bags of clothing in multiple colours remained by the door, as well as a stack of math and chemistry texts with haphazardly strewn loose-leaf papers.

He sat Arch down on the futon as he laid a hand on their back. Gently, he caressed them and pulled a warm fleece throw over their lap. Arch curled into it, and watched the fire burn, engulfing the last memories of the people they thought of as family. Lyrem return to stoking it. He picked through some photos and papers from the open bin, allowing Arch to watch as he tossed them to the flames.

Arch found themselves drifting into a deep dreamless sleep. With a pillow under their head and the room growing too warm, Lyrem studied them fondly as he continued to shove their past into the flames. Over an hour later, he closed the lid on the one of the last bins. He would return to burning those papers and photos another time. He pushed the little metal bar to close the flue on the fire, and shut the door on it as it groaned like a horn.

“You rang…?”

Lyrem turned around, seeing Paimon, he scoffed. Then held a finger to his lips to keep the demon quiet until he shooed him into the kitchen. Lyrem started the kettle on the stove. Paimon looked from the couch and then back to Lyrem warily, and then opened his mouth.

“Don’t say it,” Lyrem interjected. Paimon looked slightly offended.

“I was going to say that our lawyer has their papers ready,” Paimon replied with an innocent conjecture. Removing his tall hat, he placed it on the small worn wooden table. Lyrem nodded, and he continued. “But also, that you are getting too close.”

Lyrem pulled himself away from the cupboard; a tin of hot chocolate powder in his hand, he considered using it as a bludgeoning instrument- but even if he had something more weaponized, Paimon wouldn’t have felt a thing. He was a demon, after all.

“All Arch has to do is sign and your debts will become their debts. You won’t ever have to worry about what you owe- well until you make another ridiculous deal, that is.”

“Keeping Maria alive was not a ridiculous deal,” Lyrem said. He pulled three mugs out of the cupboard, filling them with spoonfuls of the powder. Now they only needed to wait for the water to boil.

“My apologies,” Paimon instilled a silence into the room. Absently he sifted through the mail with Charlotte’s name sprawled over it. Insurance payment reminders, some neighbourhood notices, and list of seemingly random addresses she had penned out over the phone one day, they all sat in a heap. “Their mother, then?”

Lyrem accepted the shame with dignity and crossed his arms as he leaned into the fridge.

“It had to be done. Arch is too easily influenced by them,” He spoke simply. “Thank you again for providing me with another doorway. It took a lot of energy… I may need to devour a heart or two before I replenish my strength.”

“Have you considered that you might be getting in a little over your head?”

Lyrem shook it. “No. I- I am not in over my head, Paimon. My head is still well above the waterline, thank you very much.”

Paimon smoothed his beard to the end and regarded the man skeptically.

“So, you will still allow Arch to sign?”

Lyrem blinked, his lashes fluttering bit as he thought of his answer. Then he scowled.

“They already said they would sign. I am sure that if Arch cares about me, and cares about the work ahead of them, that they will make the right decision for themselves.”

“And if they make the wrong decision?” Paimon postulated.

Lyrem fell silent just in time for the kettle to scream out with a high whistle. He shut off the stove, and picked it up. Filling the three mugs and giving them a stir, he passed one to Paimon, then moved to the living room.

With a light nudge, Arch awoke to the smell of the warm chocolate sugar and accepted the cup as they sat up. Wrapping their blanket around their shoulders, Lyrem asked.

“Are you feeling better, now?”

Arch nodded, brushing away some dried tears. Past Lyrem’s head of grey, the light was on in the kitchen with the demon in black sitting there still. He caught their gaze and held it carefully. Arch waved.

Paimon nodded back with a slight sideways grin.

“What’s Paimon doing here?” they asked, whispering to Lyrem.

Good. They remembered Paimon.

“He’s just here to catch up, that’s all.” Lyrem left them to their own devices on the couch and returned to the kitchen table as he retrieved his own comforting mug and held onto it with both hands as if the simple act could warm his rapidly cooling heart.

‘Let them enjoy their prom- their graduation. One last night out with their friends.” Lyrem was asking- no, pleading more than telling.

“Immediately after. I don’t want you to be running around any longer with this target on your back. It makes me… uneasy.” Paimon adjusted in his seat. “You and I still have much to do.”

“Yes. Yes, I know.” Lyrem sipped on his hot chocolate as his hazel eyes glazed over from thoughts that were perhaps too deep for his own good.

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chinatea · 4 years

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BG/SG/DI, two twin witches + one bear cub.

Diminie -> Jisoo.

Baby G -> Jiyeon.

Seagull -> Jungkook (goes nameless in Part 1).

(This fic is like a feel good pill for me. Hope you’ll enjoy it as well.)

<<<<Part 1 >>>>

Jisoo likes waking up early.

He also likes staying nestled under the quilted blankets for a hot minute as the ambiance of their room whispers in the quiet, punctuated by the cute little noises his brother makes in his sleep.

Jiyeon is not an early riser, but once he’s awake, he doesn’t stay in bed much longer - up and running for his big mug of coffee to jumpstart his day full of bustling activity.

With a self-indulgent yawn, Jisoo props himself up on one elbow, peeking behind the curtain where the outside world greets him with the promise of a fine day. And Jisoo believes that any day can be a fine day as long as one welcomes it with an open heart.

He lets the curtain fall back and rolls onto his other side to press a soft kiss to the crown of Jiyeon’s head. His brother whimpers, wiggling deeper under the covers and making Jisoo giggle fondly at his cuteness - Jiyeon would be the first to complain if Jisoo didn’t kiss him first thing in the morning.

Next, he gingerly crawls over Jiyeon’s sleeping form to get off their bed. As his feet touch the floor, his toes immediately curl into the fluffy carpet that purrs in response like a house cat, shooting a boost of energy up his feet.

The sleeping area is separated from the rest of the bedroom by a night veil. Delicate as a gossamer and with a dark blue shimmer to it, it muffles all noises and dims all lights, keeping even the nasty nightmares at bay. Jisoo slips right through, barely disturbing it, as he steps into the other half of the room bathed in the vibrancy of the morning light.

Their house is an enchanted place, ever changing, molding itself constantly to meet the needs of its two owners. Sometimes it can be a touch unpredictable even, Jisoo thinks as he patters his way through the open inner court that somehow became bestrewn with evergreen pines just overnight. The mist is rolling gently over the needle-littered floor while a bird warbles among the branches up above and perhaps that’s not the worst thing to encounter on one’s way to the washroom.

Albeit it wouldn’t be accurate to call it a wash-room, per se. Not anymore. Not since Jiyeon decided that he likes taking long baths while enjoying the unobstructed view of Mother Nature. So, their wash-room is an honest-to-gods hot spring now.

And Jisoo remains largely un-sold on the idea, but at least now it’s close to the kitchen, so when he is done splashing spring-fresh water onto his face, he heads there for breakfast.

As usual, plates are crowding every single surface in sight, carrying too much food for both of them to finish in a month. Their house spirit has yet to warm up to the idea of moderation, always going the whole hog. Yet, there is a lot of freedom in the way the spirit runs their household and Jisoo would be loath to take that away - it’s simply the spirit’s way of taking care of them and that goes both ways. Besides, he gets to try something new almost every day and the foodie in him can’t say no to a scrumptious meal.

“It’d be nice to have breakfast outside today. Maybe under the pergola?” Jisoo says, popping a plump raspberry into his mouth.

“Oh, and leave a basin with spring water for Jiyeon in the bedroom. Room temperature. Generously sprinkled with lavender petals, please. He likes the scent.”

Before he makes his way outside, he lingers in front of a bookcase, running his fingers over the colorful book spines. He likes reading in the morning when it’s quiet and cozy, although he’s not good at keeping track of the books he's been reading - they always tend to vanish from wherever he’d left them, so he picks something new pretty much every morning. He is not too fussy about what to read as long as it’s about romance. Or gardening. Or both.

A book pokes out, practically jumping into his hands, courtesy of the house spirit, and with a quiet ‘Thank you’, Jisoo makes for the door leading into the garden - his absolute favorite place to dally.

The garden is still very much work in progress as Jisoo likes working on it with his own two hands, mostly magic-free. Which baffles Jiyeon to no end. Ideally one would employ the services of a garden spirit who would do an outstanding job. And Jisoo agrees - that would have been so much easier. Kicking back and letting the professional do the work. Yet, he likes pottering about their plot, despite the many mishaps and frustrations that come with it. Maybe he is just being weird. Jiyeon certainly thinks so.

Still there’s something extremely satisfying about lolling around in the dappled light from the pergola, gazing over at the fruits of his labor - lavender, pot marigolds and coneflowers, all thriving in perfect union. Pretty as they can be.

Jisoo expects nothing out of the ordinary when he settles down with his tea, a buttery toast and the book - “Friendly Spirits of the Forest and Where to Find Them”. He will read until Jiyeon sashays out of the house and demands Jisoo make him a toast. And as he nibbles on his toast, they take the time to catch up on their correspondence as well as the latest witchy gossip from town.

The serenity of the morning is shuttered, however, by the clutter of plates. Nose tucked into his book, Jisoo startles, eyes darting to the cloth-draped summer table by the rose bushes. For a moment, he sees nothing that could have caused the ruckus until a little paw sneaks its way from under the table to snatch a heapful of fluffy pancakes from a plate.

Jisoo is gobsmacked for a moment, at a loss for what to do. It seems impossible that someone would be able to slink in without alerting them in one way or another. Either the house spirit must have let the intruder in or...something else entirely. And even if the creature has no ill intent (aside from nicking a few pancakes), he finds the very thought troubling indeed.

This is supposed to be their little haven, his and Jiyeon’s, away from everybody else.

With the book still pressed to his chest, Jisoo tiptoes around the table, wanting to take a good look at their guest before anything else.

He finds them easily, under the table, as the creature looks up at him, mid-munch, with a mouth full of pancake. Jisoo recognizes them as a wood spirit, still in his cubhood. The poor thing looks tiny and unkempt, perhaps stumbling upon their place in search of food.

For a moment, they simply stare at each other in mutual appraisal until the spirit seems to lose any interest in Jisoo, reaching out for a raisin pound cake from the food pile between his legs and stuffing it into their mouth, none-too-graceful. Jisoo takes it as his cue to approach him, crouching down to inspect his features in detail.

The book pokes him, stealing his attention momentarily, before opening up in a wild swirl of pages.

Bear spirit, the page reads.

There is a whimsical drawing of a bear napping under a berry bush and Jisoo inspects it for a moment before allowing his gaze to flit back to the spirit at hand. He certainly looks more like a human than a bear, although their facial features are definitely straddling that line. Is that a nose or an animal snout? That has yet to be decided.

Curious, Jisoo thinks. Could it be because this one is just a cub?

“Hello,” he says gently, addressing the spirit for the first time. “You’ve got a bit of jam there, little one, let me get it for you.”

Jisoo whips out his pristine handkerchief to reach out and dab around the cub’s mouth. When he doesn’t pounce or growl or show any signs of hostility, Jisoo takes his paw into his hand and beckons him from under the table. Obediently, the spirit toddles along, fingers stuck in his mouth, sucking the last of the sweetness off it.

Jiyeon glides into the room in his usual fluttery fashion, his trip to the coffee pot running smoothly even after he spots the cub poking a plant in the corner.

Few things can interrupt him on his way to coffee and seeing a new face in their cozy kitchen is not one of them, it seems.

“And here I thought we had a no-pet policy,” he remarks, however, after a careful sip.

Jisoo spreads apricot jam on a toast before handing it to Jiyeon.

“That’s a spirit, actually,” Jisoo chirps, plopping the book in front of Jiyeon. “Look.”

“A bear spirit?” Jiyeon peeks over his cup. “Oh dear. Aren’t they supposed to be asleep this time of year?”

“It’s the middle of the summer, Mimi,” Jisoo says. “Don’t be silly. Besides, it’s a bear spirit not a bear, they’re not the same, I don’t think.”

“Whatever,” Jiyeon pouts, biting into his toast.

The bear spirit in question ambles closer, reaching on his tippy toes to hook his chin over the table edge. Jisoo props up the book to let them see the drawing.

“Hadly a spitting image,” Jiyeon comments sourly. “Are you sure that’s what it is?”

Jisoo sighs - he has no idea. Neither of them have met a spirit like this before. Most of them dwell deeper in the woods, wary of any contact with people.

The spirit inches towards Jiyeon, eyes like two dark chocolate candies trained on his toast. The sneaky invasion doesn’t escape Jiyeon’s attention as he squints at the cub skeptically, his upper lip raised to show a sliver of teeth, before offering him the crust of his toast.

The cub sniffs at it. Then, curiously licks Jiyeon’s finger instead. His brother squeaks.

“He licked me!”

“You had jam smeared on it,” Jisoo says. “He seems to like sweet things.”

“Oh, I know I’m a sweet thing, but you better keep it in your mouth, mister,” Jiyeon complains with a wiggle of his finger - the cub pouts, slipping under the table with a grumpy babble.

“Touchy,” Jiyeon tsks, smiling impishly.

Jisoo masks his giggle with a cough, settling into a chair to dig deeper into the book for answers.

“You know,” he speaks up, some time later. “I think he’s been here all along. That’s why the house spirit never alerted us about the intruder.”

“Excuse me?” Jiyeon looks up from his morning newspaper, perfect eyebrows drawn in frown.

“Well, it says here they adapt to mimic the creatures in their surroundings. And we’re the only ones here. I mean, there must be a reason he looks so human, right?”

“Well now. That’s unsettling,” Jiyeon huffs, legs crossed, his slipper balancing on his toe.

“What, is he like a chameleon or something? Just wait until he starts matching the color of our hideous couch pillows, and we’ll never find the wretched thing. He already thinks he owns the Undertable.”

As if on cue, the cub sneaks from the Undertable to smack the slipper off Jiyeon’s foot, lobbing the fluffy thing high in the air.

Jiyeon shrieks and curses up a storm and Jisoo thinks his face might start hurting by the end of today from too much laughter.

The water in the bathtub has to be changed three times before it stops turning the color of dirt. To think that all of it came off the tiny cub is kind of gross, or so Jiyeon dramatically claims before being chased in circles around the tub by the said cub, squeaky clean now and naked as the day he was born.

Jiyeon is shrieking at the top of his lungs. In other words, he’s enjoying himself.

Jisoo steps in-between the two, catching the cub into a fluffy towel and swaddling him into a pancake. The cub does not protest, peacefully handing himself over to Jisoo’s care - he seems to be more willing to behave around Jisoo compared to his brother. He wonders if the cub is more wary of him as he combs through the mop of the thick dark hair with two bear-like ears unfurling their way to freedom.

Jiyeon coos and calls them “little saucers”, playfully flicking one and then the other. The cub butts him lightly, nuzzling into his tummy with a series of warbling noises.

It’s like he is getting cuter by the moment.

Later, Jisoo fetches a plate with crispy waffles with a sludge of raspberry syrup poured on top. The cub sniffs at it, nose twitching, before snagging a few in one bite. He barely chews. The glitter of buttons on Jiyeon’s gown pulls at his attention and he plays with them for a while, the witch giggling and booping his big nose.

“He’s kinda cute though,” he says. “I suppose we could spare a bathroom mat for him to sleep on.”

Jisoo gives him a look.

“What?” Jiyeon asks innocently. “It’s extra fluffy. I’ll even lend him your old baby blanket. Don’t say I’m not a giver.”

“He’ll easily fit between us, Mimi,” Jisoo coos. “Won’t you, baby cub?”

“Absolutely not,” Jiyeon protests, long earrings tinkling. “I like my space. I like to sleep spreadeagled, you know that.”

“You never do that, Mimi.”

“But I could!”

“You curl into a ball like a little kitten and then complain until I spoon you from behind.”

Jiyeon harrumphs, objections put on hold for now, as he gets busy arranging hair clips into the cub’s hair.

End of part 1.

In Part 2, JK is going to get a bit older and we’ll learn more about the twin’s daily routine.

(The romantic stuff will kick off in part 3, I think.)

#jikook au #personas au

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bisexualklausmikaelson · 5 years

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like winter’s losing fight -

a/n: will buyers is in love with his best friend or that rain scene in s3 gave me some real byler feels and produced this mess. au after s3. will-centric, angst. enjoy :)

He calls him, sometimes.

Nancy picks up, most of the time.

“Hey,” Will quickly says. “Can you pass the phone to Mike?” he can’t hide the excitement in his voice and somehow, the Wheeler sister finds it endearing. She was away from someone she loves too. So she knows how hard this is on him.

“Sure Will,” Nancy smiles, calling her brother down.

Mike Wheeler rushes down to the living room, a huge grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Hey Will,” He sings, and he can imagine the look of pure excitement on his friend’s face. “How are you?” Mike asks.

Will twirls his fingers around the phone cord, biting down on his bottom lip. “I’m good,” he whispers, sounding nervous. “What about you? And everyone? How are things back in Hawkins?” He wonders.

“Better,” Mike replies. “Things were really crazy for a bit,” he says while scratching the back of his head.

There is an off pause then - and strangely enough, silence was never an issue for the two boys. They used to talk for hours, but now, things had changed. They were older and therefore, awkward silences between them were becoming more and more common.

“Do you ever think about leaving?” Will suddenly asks - attempting to fill the void.

And, after everything that went down in Hawkins, you’d think Mike would be eager to run. But instead, he says this: “I can’t, this is my home, Will.”

Another pause.

More awkwardness.

“Do you ever think about coming back?” Mike suddenly questions.

Will doesn’t hesitate to answer him. “Yes,” he claims. “All the time,” he offers as he can hear the other boy release a sigh of relief.

“Maybe you should,” Mike tells him. “I think - I think we would really like that...me and the guys you know?” He adds on, sounding a tad too excited for a possibility that was only that - a possibility. Nothing more.

Will stammers, wondering why his heart was beating so fast, at this very moment.

“Maybe when I come back, you can show me how to be like you,” he quips, fingers clenching tightly around the phone. “How to be tough and brave,” Will specifies, as his other hand is pulling on the phone cord so hard, he might just yank it off the wall.

And, and that moment, he hears Mike release a fond laugh.

“Will,” he sings (with, what Will imagines, dreamy-eyes and rosy cheeks that hurt from smiling so much). “You already are those things,” Mike sighs.

Oddly enough, Will doesn’t believe him.

He doesn’t see Mike again until Thanksgiving day.

As predicted, he spends all his time with El. He can’t be angry at him for it - he loved seeing his best friend so darn happy. Even if it was with someone else. However, in the end, Mike does save a bit of time for Will.

And it doesn’t matter how small the contribution is, he appreciates it nonetheless.

It’s the thought that counts after all.

“Will,” Mike hugs him tightly as soon as he sees him. “I’m so glad you came,” he whispers in his ear - and it makes Will want to ball his eyes out.

He missed his touch so much.

“Of course,” Will says, looking at him and realizing that his eyes slip to the other boys mouth more than he knows. “I wouldn’t miss thanksgiving,” he recovers quickly and joins the rest of the boys.

In the evening, everyone gathers outside to watch the stars. Max and Lucas’ bickering can be heard for miles. Dustin laughs into Will’s ears as he sits beside Mike while he holds El’s hand. Will doesn’t want to describe the feelings he has right now as jealousy. Because that’s not it - El was like his sister and Mike was his best friend. So naturally, he’s happy that they’re together.

Just sometimes -

He wishes he could be included.

“Look look!” Mike shouts, shaking El’s shoulders. She looks up at the sky and smiles.

“A shooting star,” she whispers, squeezing Mike’s hand. “Did you make a wish?” she asks.

Mike nods. “Yes, I did,” he tells her, sealing their night with a kiss.

(That night, Will had made a wish as well. He wished that he could stay).

He is sixteen when he comes out - and sure it’s not exactly the most open of times when it comes to stuff like that, but Joyce Buyers has always been way ahead of the curve when it came to being a parent.

She doesn’t exactly get it - but she tries. And that’s all Will really asks for. Besides, she’s always known that her son was different from the other kids, that he was special.

Jonathan doesn’t have much of a reaction to it either - especially as someone as sexually ambiguous as he is, Will didn’t expect any less from his sensitive, kind and caring older brother.

El is overjoyed - she pulls him close and smiles widely. She’s probably even happier about this that he is.

“I’m so glad you can be honest with yourself about who you really are,” She goes on to say.

He keeps the snarky remarks to himself - the fact that her boyfriend was the one who helped him come to this realization in the first place. He laughs at the tragedy. He’s gay and he’s in love with his best friend who’s in love with his sort-of sister.

God couldn’t have played a crueler trick.

Will doesn’t come back into Hawkins until he is eighteen.

It took him some time to be ready to face the guys - would they accept him? Would they even understand?

Lucas is a bit apprehensive, which makes sense, this is a small town after all. Max, on the other hand, is totally ecstatic, talking about how this totally makes sense and no wonder he didn’t like girls. Dustin seems unfazed by it all - he leans against his friends with a joint in hand.

“Gay, straight, bi, who the fuck cares? Love is love, you know?” He hums, nudging Mike, who’s been very quiet through the entire process.

He’s thinking - and as always, the Wheeler boy wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s obviously upset about something.

And sure enough, that night, Will finds out what that something is.

“How come you stopped talking to me?” Mike asks, cornering him when he’s on his way up to the washroom.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, almost immediately, as he’s unable to look his best friend in the eye. “I just didn’t think you’d understand,” Will explains.

“Understand what?” Mike jerks, placing both hands on the other boy’s shoulders and shaking him.

“What I was going through,” Will whispers, looking down.

Then, Mike finally hears it - the vulnerability in his voice. His friend was scared of him. He eases his expression with tired eyes, speaking to him almost as if he was a child.

“Look I get it, you like guys - and it’s hard. But I would never abandon you just because we’re different,” Mike assures him.

“You don’t get it,” Will insists.

“Yes I do,” Mike nods.

“No you don’t,” Will argues. “I don’t just like guys,” he shouts, eyes brimming with tears.

And it almost takes a lifetime for Will to speak again.

“I like you, okay?” he confesses, causing Mike to take a step back.

“What?” he releases, completely shocked.

Mike looks at him like he’s made of ash and he almost hates him for it. If he didn’t love him, that is.

“I like you,” Will repeats, exasperated. “There, I finally said it, now we can go back to not talking to each other?” he knows this hurts his friend too.

What hurts more is that, in that moment, Mike Wheeler chooses to walk away.

It’s days later where Lucas finally breaks his door down to get him out of his funk. He stares at the mess of video games and undone laundry, followed by empty chip bags and cans of pop lying all over Mike’s room.

“Man,” he sighs, as he begins to pick stuff up for him. “Did El dump you again or something?” Lucas asks, chuckling.

He doesn’t know how to tell him that his best friend is in love with him and he just broke his fucking heart. That Will’s confession may have awaken something inside of him. That all he wants to do is run back to the time where they just kids and things were just easy.

In the end, Mike doesn’t answer Lucas - he grabs a beer instead.

That night, Will wakes up to an incessant knocking sound.

He opens it up to not just the view of his quiet little backyard but of Mike Wheeler, possibly drunk, throwing pebbles at his window.

“What kind of person says they’re in love with you and then runs away?” He shouts, as soon as he locks eyes with his best friend (ex-best friend?)

Will stammers, not knowing how to react. Rose pink blush rushes to his cheeks and he breaks out in a sweat. “I-I never said I was in love with you,” he simply says.

And those words hurt Mike even more - although he’s not sure why.

“Will please,” he begs, this time, it’s his turn to cry. “I want my best friend back,” he demands, tears streaming down his cheeks, passion in his eyes.

“I can’t just - “ Will sighs, but he can’t bring himself to finish his statement - not when Mike is looking at him like that.

“I want the person I can talk to when I feel like shit, I want the guy I can game with, I want you by my side please I - “ Mike trails off, unable to continue with his words as he catches himself shedding more and more tears.

“You have to give me some time,” Will honestly says. “I can’t just forget how I feel about you,” he goes on with.

The slight moment of silence between them offers Mike some time to compose himself again. He wipes off a few of his tears and fixes his gaze on the other boy.

“How long do you need?” He asks, sounding desperate.

“I don’t know,” Will shrugs. “A few years maybe?” He doesn’t know how to calculate this - how the hell is he supposed to know the answer to that? You can’t just math out heartbreak - it doesn’t work like that.

The wounds left by unrequited love are not mendable some times. But he couldn’t bare to tell Mike that.

“You’re not making this easy,” Mike grits.

“Neither are you,” Will whispers. He finally makes his way downstairs and walks up to his friend. He places a kind hand on his shoulder and actually offers him a small smile. “You have to go home now, okay?” Will quietly advises, in the softest tone.

And that’s how he’s always been - gentle.

“I was right about you,” Mike sniffs, brushing off the other’s touch. “You are the tough and brave one, even in moments like this,” he chuckles, making his way off of Will’s property.

Even when he was having his heart broken, he knew he had to be strong one, for Mike’s sake.

Will knew that if he broke down too, his best friend could not handle it.

Even if he so desperately wanted to.

#stranger things #st #st3 #mike wheeler #byler #byler fanfic #will byers #munea writes #ahhhh #this took years to finishhh #please like it and reblog it!!

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wererotten · 5 years

Text

‘Cover Story’ ft. @banditborn

mild gore warning.

The first time he calls him Dad he doesn't understand what it means. Nathaniel only comprehends it in terms of it making it easier to travel together. It's logical. Convenient. A functional title that was usually met with a 'aw, he's yours?' or something to that effect – which also somewhat made sense in his young mind. The wolf had saved him. Was guiding him in this otherwise unfamiliar landscape. So in a way, yes – he was Bandit's. A responsibility the white wolf didn't have to take but did anyway.

Nathaniel had to understand it that way, or else be even more lost to the confusion of all his unspoken questions. (He wasn't supposed to ask questions. They'd been taboo for so long – Bandit was the first one who didn't quite mind.) The young child had no frame of reference to draw from. A Mother. A Father. A Sister. A Brother – all of them were just titles in a false Kingdom he'd left behind. No different from military rank.

He could only assume Dad was no different.

Bandit had said it was some sort of cover story. Although the explanation was quickly abandoned when those grey eyes showed a lack of clear understanding. All that mattered to Nate was that it made the questions stop. Or rather, change the nature of them. So many people were interested in his age, or ... where he went to something called school. It wasn't as if Nathaniel needed to understand – it was enough to know that it worked.

“Is this your Dad?”

“Yes.”

Was all it took to change their demeanor towards them both. It was like a magical pass that allowed them to escape too much scrutiny. All he had to do most times was nod his head and stick close to Bandit. Whatever a Dad was – they were playing the part perfectly. What was more concerning to the younger entity was how people responded to him after the fact. As was the case with the young waitress that was attending to their table.

“Aw, out with your Pops tonight, kiddo?”

“No. He's my Dad.” Nathaniel corrected in a matter of fact tone which only caused the waitress to ... chuckle at him. The bizarre reaction only had him staring dumbly in her direction to the point where Bandit had to cover for him by ruffling his hair and joining her. He didn't know what he had said that was so funny. Only that she was talking to him in that tone of voice.

That tone he'd never heard used until he was out and about with the normal people. Where it was all soft sing-song notes and ... cooing? It was weird. He had no idea how to feel. (Was it soothing? Or condescending?) Even an unsure glance towards his mentor didn't give him any clues on how to react beyond shrinking into his seat further and hiding his burning features behind his menu. Bandit doesn't miss the way the small boy shifting closer to his side.

“Sorry, boy's a touch shy.”

It really starts to catch Bandit's attention when Nathaniel starts to call him Dad in their shady motel rooms, away from prying eyes and ears. Where there is no more need to keep up a charade. No cover story required. No witness but the musty walls surrounding them and the TV that the old wolf was flipping idly from channel to channel. Although his gaze was more focused on the moments of the tiny body investigating the room until he disappeared out of sight by disappearing into the washroom.

“Dad?” there's a marked hesitation in that soft voice as the set of grey eyes peer out from the bathroom. The long pause indicating that the young boy had a question of some sort. There was always one – some questions taking longer for him to finally spit out than others. However it was the title that caused a white brow to raise toward his hairline more than the small object in the child's hands as he makes his careful approach, “What is this?”

The wolf wrinkled his nose of course recognizing the item for what it was. Trash. It was a razor that someone should have discarded. Although it was no surprise that the room service of this place was lacking.

“It's garbage. Toss it.”

Nate blinks, as if mildly startled by the revelation. Staring at Bandit for a moment then the item he was not holding away from him with two fingers.

“But... it was on the counter?

“Some people are slobs. Get rid of it.”

“Yes, sir!”

He finds himself mulling over the word Dad as he watches Nathaniel rush back off to find a place for the offending item. Ultimately dismissing it as a force of habit rather than anything meaningful. Sir was used just as easily, as if he was still his commanding officer. It worked for now – there was no need to confuse him further.

“Mhn... Dad?”

Nathaniel is barely awake as the bus takes on another hard bump in the road, his soft, quaking murmur stealing Bandit's attention from the rain that is pelting at the window like it means to enter. The child can't even open his eyes he's so spent, merely stirring his head up from the seat trying in vain to track the disturbance. He's not even coherent, his head lulling as he fights to remain conscious.

The sight provokes a deep frown that etches itself into the lines of Bandit's face. The kid's hyper vigilance is painful to watch. The slightest movement or sound Nate jerks awake, again and again in an endless cycle. It's a struggle for him to get a full night's sleep at the best of times – much less when they are fleeing the country on a damn overnight bus. The sheer exhaustion evident in the small body when Nathaniel's head finally slumps again to lean against Bandit.

“It's okay, bud...” he sighs and puts an arm around the child so he can rest comfortably as he passes out “I'm still here.”

“DAD!”

It's ripped out of him in the form of a terrorized scream. The cry out driven by raw instinct and wide eyed fear. The threat of potential loss far greater than any that could've been made towards his own tiny body. The warning spilling from his lips far too late as he witnessed the young hunter plunging a silvered blade into Bandit's back from behind while the white wolf was dealing with two more at his front.

It was a lucky hit and everyone involved knew it was the result of chance and freak positioning. Which is sometimes all it took to turn the tides of a battle. Even the man that had stabbed him seemed surprised – he couldn’t ha've been older than eighteen.

Not that it mattered. Not that any of these men and women mattered. Not that they'd ever get the chance to celebrate. The moment Nathaniel saw Bandit's blood split and that familiar white mist – logic abandoned him. Silver or not – deep down he knew a single stab wound wouldn't fell Bandit. However in that moment it no longer mattered.

They hurt him. They hurt him and that wasn't supposed to happen.

A distorted screech like broken glass left him as the tiny boy lunged forward with a feral ferocity he hadn't experienced since his time at The Garden. By the time Bandit had turned around the teen was no longer with them anymore. Coming face to face with a lifeless corpse instead – a blade tipped tendril stabbed clear through the hunter's skull and out the front of his forehead – expression locked deadened shock.

The next few moments the dead end alley had it's walls painted red as the flood of tendrils, teeth and claws spilling from the nine year-old's body had taken over in a near blind rage. They hurt him. They hurt him. They hurt him. They hurt my Dad. The human's shrieks didn't even sound human anymore as they were disemboweled near instantly – barbed tendrils shredding their bodies long after they'd passed on.

It was all a blur of violence to Nathaniel – one that had left him spent only two minutes later... as corpses – or rather what was left of them litter the soiled ground and brick walls. Only Bandit of course left in tact.

“They hurt you, Dad...” his hands are slick with the aggressors blood up to the elbows, blood splattered all over his olive tone of his skin. Sharpened tendrils retracting from the bodies they had been tearing into with wet sounds and spilled innards. The shaking of his small form unmistakable as the glow seeps from grey eyes turned silver – although not even Bandit could tell if it was from rage or fear – maybe both, “...They hurt you...”

“You don't gotta call me that if you don't want to, Nate.” Bandit murmurs as they walk side by side through the under brush. Nothing but the light of the moon illuminating their contrasting pelts, golden eyes looking at the small pup walking alongside him, “it will be safe out here.”

He's still so awkward walking on his four paws. It takes him a moment for the black wolf to reply as he navigates over a fallen limb of a tree, “...Did you want me to call you something else?”

“You could use my name now, is all I'm sayin'. You don’t got to worry about a cover out here.”

“Why?”

Was the question Bandit hadn't been expecting. For some reason he'd expected Nate to abandon the title naturally as it no longer served a purpose out in the wilderness. Although the surprise didn't end there as the 'wolf' pup stops in his tracks to sit upon his haunches, those silver eyes looking up at him curiously.

“Is that not what you are to me? Dad?” Nathaniel tilted his head to the side, there was no mistaking the earnest tone in his voice, “I read it is not limited to blood relations. It described you well.”

Of course he looked it up. Nathaniel was always looking things up when he could.

Regardless Bandit found it hard to argue with that point.

#I'm so grateful for everything he didn't have to be // Bandit

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daysswithyou · 6 years

Text

Slowly, Quietly, Falling

Characters: DAY6 Jae x OC

Genre: 50% fluff, 29% slice of life, 10% romance, 10% humour (or so I hope), 1% angst

Words: 4.1k

Description: roommate!jae AU

---

The first thing you noticed was the shoes. There was not a single pair that was matched – the most intriguing one had to be the pair of flip flops, one black and one white.

This shoe size is really big; it’s almost twice of mine.

Closely the door silently behind you, you observed the space quietly. To your left, there was a kitchen with an island counter top. It looked clean, but you suspect it’s because nothing ever been done in that space. The space right in front of you was the living room and by a corner of the wall, you found an electric and acoustic guitar, the earth tones of both complementing one another. Down the hallway on your right, you found two rooms on the left, the first was occupied and the second was not, automatically making that your room. The space was clean and cosy; just like how you liked it. You decided that the first order of matters would be to unpack. Heading to the bathroom with your toiletries in hand, you found male cleaning products lining the entire place from shampoos to shaving cream.

Calm down Y/N, don’t be silly. You can’t possibly be rooming with a male. Maybe she just has a preference for male products? Anything’s possible right?

And yes indeed, anything was possible.

Before you could do anything else, a voice came from behind you.

“Excuse me, who are you?”

“Hi, I’m – ”

You didn’t manage to complete your sentence, simply because your suspicions have been confirmed.

You were staring back at a topless male with a sleepy look on his face that suggested you were conversing with someone that was not fully functional yet. Reality had just slapped you in the face. Your roommate was really going to be a male. That was when you let a scream tear from your throat and all hell had broken loose.

After much screaming back and forth, here you were seated on the couch in the living room with said male sitting on the floor in front of you with some clothes on. Even then, he was almost at your eye level.

He's so ridiculously tall it's unfair.

After an intense staring game, he finally broke the silence.

"I'm Jae what's good?" He then stuck out his hand, which you took.

"Y/N"

"So tell me what you're doing in my apartment again?"

"You mean OUR apartment. As I have so kindly mentioned 10 times before, I am your new roommate."

He then let out a scoff, which you took to great offense.

"I must be dreaming." Jae then closed his eyes, pinched his arms before opening his eyes again.

"Surprise Jae! I'm not gone yet and you're not dreaming."

You then crossed your arms as you watched him groan.

"There must be some mistake!"

"I would like to think so too, but unfortunately no."

"I'm going to be stuck with you? Lord have mercy."

"I think I should be the one saying that. Let's just strike a deal ok? It's really simple: just keep this place liveable and I'll leave you alone. Deal?"

"Deal."

But of course, you can't trust the devil when you make a deal with him.

Jae was an absolute pain to live with. It was almost as if he made it his personal life goal to make your life a living nightmare. There was not a single day when you could be spared from his teasing or torture.

“Jae, where's the coffee sachets?”

"On the top shelf."

“Goddamnit.”

"Good luck reaching it shortie."

“Stop walking around the apartment topless!”

“Why? Can’t deal with a little hotness sweetie?”

“Don’t make me stab you with my fork.”

“Feisty~” He then threw you a wink, causing you to lose all your appetite.

“You used all my soap.”

“Of course I did, they smelled so good.”

“I just bought this huge bottle last week and it’s all gone now!”

“That cannot be helped; taller people naturally have bigger bodies that require more soap. Besides, sharing is caring.”

“What is that sack that you’re wearing? You look like a grandma from the 50s!”

“It’s just an oversized shirt! WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM WITH IT?”

“CASTLE ON THE HILL!” Shouts of pop lyrics would be followed by the aggressive strumming of Jae’s guitar next door, causing you to slam your pillow over your ears in a futile attempt to block out his singing. It was taking you all your willpower to not go over and strangle him.

No matter what you did, Jae would always have a sarcastic, unsolicited comment hanging on his lips to be hurtled at you later. He was out for blood and you were wearing thin.

Today had been a terrible day. First of all, your alarm didn’t go off, causing you to be late for your lecture. By the time you got there, it was over, causing you to get an earful from your lecturer. In the next class, you found out that you got a failing grade on an important assessment for the most ridiculous reason: your lecturer didn’t like what you had written. You were, of course, frustrated but you knew better than to argue with her. You had also gotten a call from your mother saying that your grandfather had a really bad fall and was now in the hospital. And for the last cherry on top, someone had to spill coffee over your new white shirt. The series of misfortune that continuously wrecked your day finally spilled out and you had spent a good half an hour stuck in the washroom trying to wash off the stains before breaking down into tears.

Why do I always have such bad luck? First I get a shitty roommate and then now I also have to deal with this nonsense!

Another half an hour was then spent crying. By the time you were done, you dragged your tired body back to the apartment, praying with all your might that Jae would not be there so that you could be spared. Of course, no such luck. He was sitting on the couch strumming his guitar when he caught sight of you, launching into another verbal assault.

“Gosh you look horrible, like some ugly fish.”

And, that was the end of your fuse.

“Yea I get it Jae, I GET IT! I’m ugly, short, incompetent! I am a mixture of all these undesirable things in the world… but I…” By now you were choking on your words from all the tears threatening to spill over and behind that blurry screen you could see Jae’s shocked face; he had finally realised the severity of the situation. The last part of your sentence came out as a whisper, your vulnerability showing through the crack.

“But I don’t need to be reminded of it daily, it hurts, it really hurts”

Turning around, you slammed the door on your way out and for the rest of the night, you spent it at a 24 hour café where Brian had found you.

“Oh Y/N? What are you doing here so late at night?”

Sweet Brian. You knew him from business lessons and he was an absolute joy to be around. Both of you had quickly became friends and you also found out that he was the bassist for the band DAY6 which Jae was also a part of.

“Hi Brian. I’m working on some urgent assignment.”

“Is Jae being too noisy again?”

“No, I just wanted a new place to work on things to think better.”

“Ah~ We’re actually having a gig at Evening Luna tomorrow, do you want to come and hear us play? He’s actually a pretty decent guy when he plays the guitar; I don’t know why he’s such a prick to you.”

I would love to hear you guys play but I don’t want to face Jae so soon…

“I can’t… I’m really sorry Brian.”

“Oh… it’s alright then, there’s always another time! Also, are you ok? Did Jae upset you very badly?”

“It’s... I had a really terrible day. Both academic and family problems are coming at me from both sides and I just need some time away from that apartment and our school grounds in general. But, I’ll be fine I guarantee.”

“Ok, I respect your space. Well, you have my number; call me if you ever need someone to talk to. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

You waved as he left the café, wondering why Jae can’t be half as nice as Brian is.

The next day before the gig, Brian confronted Jae about you.

“What did you do to Y/N Jae? She looked really miserable last night you know?”

“I didn’t do anything to her!”

“Well then, I guess she finally snapped. I don’t know what you’ve been doing to her, but I don’t think she deserves that sort of treatment from you. You should apologise if you know you’ve done something wrong.”

That night, Jae left you your favourite strawberry cheesecake in the fridge (courtesy to Brian) with a note saying “I’m sorry – Jae” attached to it.

The next day, the cake was gone and so was the note, and Jae knew he had been forgiven.

Since then, your relationship with Jae has significantly improved. He stopped annoying you and sometimes you’ll have breakfast together. It was during these moments where you began to unravel the real Jae; the one that had brilliant thoughts to share and a cute infectious laugh. The first time you asked him to play a song for you, he seemed rather unwilling but after much spurring from you, he had finally agreed.

“What song do you want me to play?”

“Better Man.”

“Why do you want to hear that song?”

“Just because… it’s something coming from you, it’s your own story. I want to hear that.”

“Ok then. Be honoured because I’m playing this for the first time live, and it’s for you only.”

“Ok Jae.”

Testing out the strings first, he then started singing and you watched him with a smile of your face. He does this thing where he enters this special zone when he’s performing and you like watching him when he does it. He becomes a different man entirely – a little softer around the edges and his voice seems so much more soulful as compared to his peals of laughter.

“Stop staring at me and focus on the song instead Y/N.”

“I like watching you sing, it’s really nice… and thank you Jae.”

Jae’s singing would soon become the remedy for your sadness or stress. It had gotten to a point where you didn’t even have to ask; the moment he saw your deflated shoulders, he would play till he saw a smile on your face. Dropping by on their band practises became common too and you’ve never missed a single gig of theirs. Once, on his birthday, you were challenged to make a board for him to show your support for him. Jae was sure that you were never going to do that but you really did and as embarrassing as it was, Jae was smiling a little wider throughout that night as they rocked out at the gig. Taking a little tour around the city on foot with him later, he’d let his true feelings show.

“I didn’t actually think you’ll do it.”

“Why would I not? Besides, it was a challenge and I’m never one to lose.”

“But seriously though, thank you for doing it.”

“You’re welcome roommie.”

“Tonight’s a good night isn’t it?”

“Hmmm?”

“The gig. The ice cream we’re having now. Me and you talking normally without trying to kill one another. This is all a nice change.”

“It is. Let’s keep it up?” You held out your fist and he gladly fistbumped you. Under the cool summer night, Jae finally saw the beauty behind you.

Was it just his imagination, or does his heart speed up a little whenever he sees you now?

“Jae? What are you doing here?”

“Hi Y/N.”

His voice came out as a croak and the next second he was a coughing mess.

“Looks like someone is not going to be singing anytime soon~”

“Shut up, you’re not making me feel better.”

“Just kidding, do you need anything?”

“Maybe some hot water.”

“Coming right up!”

For the entire weekend, Jae was stuck in bed with a fever, leaving you to upkeep the entire apartment on top of rushing out assignments. You were worried about both and you kept muttering under your breath about deadlines. You rushed around the house so much that it was making Jae dizzy and finally on Sunday evening, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Y/N stop worrying! Not doing the laundry today wouldn’t matter.”

“Ok…and erm…what are you doing?”

In his hazy mind that was still clouded by the medication, he didn’t understand the purpose of your question until he realised what he was doing. His arm was wrapped around your shoulder and his head was directly beside yours as he pulled you into his chest to restrain your arms. He was, essentially, backhugging you.

“Oh I’m sorry… ahem…”

“It’s ok…”

“I’ll go back to my room.”

“Ok.”

He then made a dash for his room as you turned as red as a tomato.

Winter break came by but neither of you were going home. So this holiday, it was just you and Jae. Everything was going fine until the heating went off in your apartment.

“Work.You.Cranky.Machine!” With every word, you slammed your palm onto the heater. It whirred for a little while before sending a puff of dust into your face, as though it was mocking you.

“Just leave it Y/N, it’s not going to work.”

“Can’t we call services?”

“Not gonna happen, you require school approval but the student services centre is closed on weekends.”

“Great, now we will freeze to death over the next 2 days with this thick snow falling outside.”

“We won’t, relax. Let’s just bundle up more.”

Bundling up that night like he said, you snuggled into the warm duvets until you felt your bed dip beside you. Turning around, you found that a certain someone had gotten into bed with you.

“Jae what are you doing?”

“Getting more heat.”

“What?”

“Look Y/N, it’s cold, really cold. I don’t think I can sleep without any extra warmth. Let’s just share the bed to keep warm for tonight ok? I’ll put a pillow between the both of us for your protection.”

A pillow was then wedged between the both of you and with your backs facing one another, you drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, for some odd reason, the pillow was gone and when Jae woke up, he was facing you instead. The first thing that came to his mind was:

Wow she’s really adorable when she sleeps. And she frowns even in her sleep? Cute.

Jae watched for a few moments in silence at how you’ve squeezed your eyes shut and the way lines formed on your forehead before he smoothed his thumb over the lines and your eyes. Responding to his touches, you relaxed your facial features in your sleep and he chucked a little at your reaction. In the spur of the moment, he leaned forward to kiss your temple and when he pulled back, he found that you were now wide awake.

“Morning.”

“Morning Jae.”

By now, he was furiously wishing that you hadn’t noticed what he had done but it was too late, you were well aware of it even though you didn’t voice it out.

“I’m going to wash up first so that we don’t have to argue over the washroom later.” Throwing the covers over yourself, you bolted from your room and for the rest of the day, you tried to expel conspiracy theories of what his actions meant from your head. You were sure he didn’t see you in that way.

Things returned to normal the next few days with the heater finally working again and both of you were thinking about what to do for Christmas when you pitched your idea to him.

“Hey, ever been to an orphanage before?”

“Nope. Why’d do you ask?”

“I volunteer at one regularly and we could go down on Christmas Day to do something for the kids. You know, since we’ve got nothing to do on that day either. You can bring your guitar and play for the kids, I’m sure they’ll love it.”

“I’m in, let’s get it!”

That Christmas night, both of you spent time interacting with the kids and all of them immediately fell for Jae. They were all ears when he started playing and when he was done playing; they all erupted into cheers and called for an encore, which he gladly gave. For the next 2 hours, he had a karaoke session with the kids and even you sang during the last 30 minutes. Your initial fears of him not liking the kids were immediately dispelled when you saw how gentle he was with them.

One particular incident stood out to you. 2 year old Ella had crept up on Jae and began pulling on Jae’s face to vie for his attention. You were about to run over to pull her off him when he beat you to it. From a few feet away, you could see him gently picking her up with a smile on his face and when she began to make bubbly faces at him, he returned the favour by pulling silly faces and tickling her by her sides. The sight was shocking to you nonetheless. She was notorious for having a temper: she wouldn’t let anyone else hold her except you and some other staff members. The fact that she readily went up to Jae for his affection left you staring at the sight in awe and the beams shining off Jae’s face really made your heart swell. He was putting in so much effort to make the kids happy and you were genuinely touched.

“Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For making the kids happy. I haven’t seen them so happy in the long time and I think the credit has to go to you.”

“Nah the kids were the real gems. Bring me over more next time; I’ll love to see them again.”

“Sure thing.”

Smiling, you began to think about what a great dad he would make.

I just found another reason to love this man; I’m sinking deeper and deeper, Lord help…

Jae wasn’t looking for trouble at all, trouble found him instead. Over the past few months, he had become fiercely protective of you anything or anyone else that said otherwise didn’t sit well with him. So of course, when he heard someone making rude comments about you, it got him all riled up.

“What did you say about her?”

“You have a problem with it Jae?”

“Yea I have a big problem with it, lay off her.”

“How about you mind your own business instead?” That’s when the first punch landed on his stomach and all hell broke loose.

“Y/N! Help me out here!” The frantic tone in Brian’s voice caused you to rush out of your room and the sight of all of them bruised and battered made you gasp. Jae was looking the worst with blood seeping out of little cuts in his face and hands.

“What happened?”

“He got into a fight with someone then the punches began to fly.”

“Getting into a fight? He’ll never do that unless he’s been provoked.”

“Yea he was. Someone made some rude comment about you and then he just got so mad.”

“Why would he do that?”

“You can interrogate him when he’s conscious. I think I better get some ice on my cheek before it swells more.”

“Thank you for bringing him back.”

“Don’t worry; we’re not going to let him die.”

With that, the other four left the apartment, leaving you to deal with Jae.

“Jae can you hear me?”

“Yea.”

“Where are you hurt that I can’t see?”

“My stomach.”

“Ok, can you get out of that shirt on your own? I’ll go get the first aid kit.”

By the time you came back, Jae was leaning back against the sofa topless, revealing the huge ugly bruise on the left side of his stomach. Standing on the ground between his legs, you began to clean his facial wounds.

“You idiot, why did you get into a fight?”

“Do you want to know why?” He was now staring at you with a giddy smile on his face, the alcohol making its appearance.

“I know why you idiot, because of me. I’m asking you why you couldn’t have just walked away; you didn’t have to fight them.”

“Can I ask you a question Y/N?”

“Go ahead.”

“Have you ever seen a man that didn’t protect the girl he loves?”

“No.”

“Then there’s your answer. I love you Y/N, that’s why I fought for you.” Your hands stilled in their ministrations, your ears not believing what they were hearing.

“What?”

“I said I love you Y/N.”

“You’re drunk Jae, you don’t understand what you’re saying now.”

“I’m not.”

“Just hold still and let me finish this ok?”

“Ok.” True to his word, he lay still as you picked up from where you left off, trying to forget what he just said to you and ignoring the close proximity between you and him. You then sent him off to bed as you entered a sleepless night, his words playing over, and over, and over again in your mind.

When you woke up the next morning, you were surprised that he was up. He was leaning against the counter sipping on some coffee when you saw him.

“Oh you’re awake. I thought you’d be resting.”

“The ache woke me up.”

“We’ve got some painkillers.”

“I already took them.”

“Ok.” You then walked around the entire kitchen making your own cup of coffee, refusing to look at him and trying not to squirm under his watchful eye. Cup in hand, you were about to make your way to your room before his words stopped you.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said those words to you last night.”

“I…I didn’t think you’d remember.” You absent-mindedly stirred your coffee as you looked him in the eye properly. When you didn’t see that glint of mischief, you knew he was being real.

“I do remember Y/N, and I did mean what I said.” Crossing the space between the both of you, he removed the cup from your hands before replacing the warmth of the coffee with his own hands.

“Over time you had silently crept into my heart and before I knew it you were already living there. Being mean to you before was me trying to block out my feelings for you but ultimately it didn’t work. I might have been drunk last night, sure, but I clearly remember looking up into your face as you patched me up when I said those words. In case you still don’t believe me I’ll say it one more time: I love you Y/N, I really do.”

Very slowly, he brought his lips down to meet yours and that’s when you closed your eyes and surrendered your heart to him. Apart from the coolness of the stainless steel fridge on your back, all you could register was the feeling of his lips on yours. They were soft, sweet and perfect for you. Everything was going fine until you placed a hand on his face.

“Ouch Y/N! That was a bruise!” Even though he was in pain, he was still laughing and that’s when you laughed along with him.

“I’m so sorry Jae oh my – ”

Catching you off guard, he gave you a quick peck on your lips before pulling back.

“Thank goodness my lips aren’t bruised, if not I won’t be able to kiss you even if I wanted to.”

“Stop it geez!”

“What? Am I not allowed to kiss my girl?”

“Excuse me Mister; I’m sure I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Judging by the way you were so hungry for my lips just now, I’d take that as a yes.”

“Just shut up and kiss me already.”

Bringing his lips to yours once again, both of you indulged in the moment. Just you and him, raw and in love with one another.

#day6writersnet #day6 writings #day6 scenarios #day6 imagines #jae #jae park #day6 jae #park jaehyung #jae scenario #jae imagines

381 notes · View notes

drjitenchowdhry · 4 years

Text

6 Tips On Piles You Will Read This Year

Heaps, additionally called hemorrhoids are expanding of veins situated in the district of the rectum and rear-end. They can happen inside or remotely. Inward heaps are framed at barely any centimeters over the kickoff of rear-end. Based on their size, they are isolated into four evaluations grade I to review IV; grade I being the beginning or the beginning stage, and grade IV being the last stage. Outer heaps (named therapeutically as perianal hematoma) are obvious and can be afflictive.

There could be a few reasons for heaps; stoppage being the significant guilty party. Pregnancy, applying excessive worry over butt-centric muscles while pooping, history of rectal medical procedure, and lifting of hefty weight could be potential explanations behind heaps.

In spite of the fact that individuals from any age gathering can be influenced by heaps, it generally assaults individuals matured between 45-65 must consult Piles Clinic Mumbai. Subsequently, individuals falling under this age gathering ought to be more cautious about their latrine propensities. Heaps offer out early hints of caution in the type of side effects like agony while pooing, development of hard knots around the butt, presence of blood in the stools, bodily fluid release while passing stools, and irritation around rear-end. In the event that the side effects are not treated in sprouting phases of heaps, they will exacerbate further and cause more harm.

Heaps medical procedure is the main alternative actualized to treat heaps which have progressed to the conclusive stage. Before heaps can assume responsibility for the body, we should actualize measures to control it.

Here are 10 best home cures on heaps that may prevent you from looking through heaps medical procedure cost.

1. Loads of fiber ought to be at the forefront of your thoughts and plate!

Filaments For-Piles

Fiber is a significant aspect of a reasonable eating regimen and assumes a crucial part in taking out byproducts from the body. In contrast to starches, proteins, or fats, roughage which is dietary fiber, can't be separated by our body into straightforward atoms then you can take an appointment at Piles Clinic in Mumbai. In any case, still, this dietary fiber is an essential aspect of our eating regimen since it helps in smoothing the absorption cycle and associates in the section of waste materials through the gut. It keeps squandering materials from getting amassed in the body.

It is suggested that one ought to burn-through at the very least 25-38 grams (in view of sex; lower being for females) of fiber or 14 grams of fiber for every 1000 calories, regardless of whether you attempt to limit your calorie admission. The absolute best wellsprings of fiber are lentils, vegetables, sunflower seeds, verdant greens, entire grains, cereal, cucumber, carrots, cauliflower, broccoli, organic products like bananas, oranges, pear, melons, papaya, and so on It is smarter to stay away from natural product juices since they are drained of fiber. Rather, have the entire organic product. Every one of these nourishments keeps your gut clean. Dispense with hot, singed, and nourishments that are hard to process. Incorporate an assortment of soups to ensure you don't forget about essential supplements.

2. Hydrate!

Hydrate-Yourself-Piles

Indeed, hydration is the way to alleviate heaps. Body hydration and assuaging heaps side effects are in the direct extent to one another. Water clearly is the primary constituent when you consider hydration. Make it a point that you drink at any rate eight glasses of water regularly or consult a Piles Dr in Mumbai. On the off chance that you disdain to taste on plain water for the duration of the day, at that point following are some invigorating other options. Coconut water not just saturates every single cell in the body yet additionally gives you fundamental minerals. Sugarcane juice is another delicious beverage that will build your energy remainder. Vegetable squeezes likewise make another extraordinary choice to keep yourself hydrated. On the off chance that it is summer, at that point it is considerably more significant that you keep yourself hydrated. Dodge circulated air through beverages, liquor, and pop. Rather, take a hint from your grandma's formula book and taste on quickly reviving beverages like kokum sharbat, jaljeera, buttermilk, sol kadhi, and so on.

3. Put agony to rest and quit tingling

Quit Itching-Piles

To diminish irritation and bothering in the influenced zone, here are some home cures that will give you some help or take an appointment at Piles Surgeon in Mumbai. Rub ice on the influenced territory. It cuts down expanding. Rehash this method for in any event threefold in a day. Pick cold water or tepid water showers rather than boiling water. One can even use over-the-counter creams or wipes to calm tingling and agony. In the event that the torment gets deplorable, you can take painkillers like headache medicine or ibuprofen, or acetaminophen. Pick delicate, free, cotton clothing to keep dampness from working up. Abstain from scratching the territory or probably it will exacerbate things.

4. Maintain clean washroom propensities

Washroom-Hygiene-Piles

Take a stab at hunching down the situation as it makes solid discharge simpler. Use cotton balls, pre-dampened wipes, liquor-free child wipes, in the event that you think that it's bothering to utilize bathroom tissue. Go without structure holding your insides and don't search for a superior time or spot to go or consult a Piles Doctor in Mumbai. Keeping down your entrails can prompt stressing and more weight.

5. Exercise

Yoga-For-Piles

Indeed, even twenty minutes of lively strolling is sufficient to limit heaps from deteriorating. Any type of activity besides is valuable to your general wellbeing. Take a stab at doing yoga subsequent to taking guidance from your Piles Specialist in Mumbai. Yoga is probably the best type of activity that carries constructive outcome to both your physical just as emotional well-being. Yoga changes your way from dis-simplicity to ease, from trouble to de-stress, and from enthusiasm to empathy.

6. Aloe-vera to the salvage

Aloe-Vera-For-Piles

Aloe-vera is the restorative jewel on Earth. Its wide uses make it monstrously mainstream. Restorative and calming properties of aloe-vera make it an ideal answer for treat hemorrhoids or consult a Piles Treatment in Mumbai. Cut an aloe vera leaf and eliminate its prickly piece. At that point eliminate the upper layer and gather the gel present inside the lead in a bowl. Tenderly back rub influenced part utilizing the gel and leave it on for 10 minutes. To fix inner hemorrhoids, cut aloe vera leaf into little, slender portions of around 5 cm size. Freeze the strips and spot them on hemorrhoids to ease the consuming and tingling sensation.

#PilesClinicMumbai #PilesClinicinMumbai #PilesDrinMumbai #PilesSurgeoninMumbai #PilesDoctorinMumbai #PilesSpecialistinMumbai #PilesTreatmentinMumbai

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etoilesdephan · 6 years

Text

Burn bright for my constellations (Chapter 5)

Chapter masterpost

Word count: 4.4k

Read it on ao3!

A/N: Hope you enjoy! Next chapter is probably coming in two weeks, depending on my schedule, but stay put!

===

Phil: Good morning! Hope to see you at school today! I think Louise might actually eviscerate me if you don't show up.

Dan stared at the message blearily for a few minutes. He'd soon enough learned that Louise had given Phil his number, since the two boys had failed to exchange them beforehand. And though it had been already two day, it was still strange to see Phil's name pop up on his screen regularly, their conversations just as easy in text as in person.

Dan: i would too with all those exclamation marks. you sound like an overly eager parent

Phil: I will send them after you if you don't show today. Trust me, we have created a strong alliance and the army is always ready to take down my enemies.

Dan: you're a nerd, phil

Phil: I'll take that as a compliment.

Dan: or is it

Phil: Shut up. I'll see you at school?

Dan lowered his phone and looked at the pile of the papers of schoolwork on the table. With a grunt, he pushed himself up, testing his ankle before he grabbed the phone and shot off a quick text of 'sure' before he dropped the device on the bed and began carefully limping through the house towards the washroom.

Surprisingly, he felt well-rested, and it seemed that even the ringing had become quieter, the noise almost indistinguishable if he didn't focus on it. It caused a little bit of hope to bloom in Dan's chest, enough to allow a soft hum to ring in his throat as he made his way across the hallway.

For once in a long time he was actually looking forward to the day.

Light stung his eyes as he flipped on the light switch in the bathroom, shivering a little as he stepped on the cold tiles. For a while he continued on with his business until he stepped up to the faucet and looked up in the mirror.

The hum dried up in his throat, and for a moment he forgot the running water as it scaldingly lapped at his skin, making it sting but also effectively warming the frozen limbs up. Slowly, he leaned in closer to the mirror and cocked his head a little so the light wouldn't fall the same on his features.

He'd spent long time avoiding looking at the little scars, but as they had begun to face a little, he had given his reflection a little more time of the day. He could almost ignore that they were there, as well as the uncertainty of how long it would take them to fade completely if they ever did.

He wasn't looking at the scars now though.

Slowly, he reached up, water dripping from his wet hands inside his sleeve and though his skin crawled, he was too focused on touching his fringe carefully. He brushed it side to side, but the way that the light got caught in his hair remained the same, several grey hair clearly standing out between the brown strands.

His throat constricted, but he bit the inside of his lip until he could faintly taste the iron on his tongue. Thickly, he swallowed, and reached to pull the hood over his eyes with a swift movement, his good mood a memory.

“Dan?” He heard his mum call out to him through the closed door and he jumped, quickly grabbing his toothbrush and running it under water.

“I'm up,” His voice was heavy, the words short, but it seemed to be enough for his mum as he could hear her shuffle down the hallway, probably to make some coffee and breakfast.

For some reason his stomach churned uncomfortably at the idea.

Without another look at the mirror, he finished up and as fast as he could made his way back to his room, shutting the door behind him tightly. Dan leaned his back against the solid wood and drew in a deep breath, trying to contain the thickness in his chest and throat that was threatening to spill over at any moment.

His phone buzzed on his bed, and he eyed it from where he stood.

He'd promised.

===

“I'll make an appointment today, I promise,” His mum leaned out the car window a little bit as Dan stood next to it, fiddling a bit with the crutch thoughtfully, his expression hidden from his mum by the hood that was still drawn over his eyes. Their conversation at breakfast had been slow, unsure from his mum's side though Dan had tried to make her believe, reassuring her many times over that he could walk, albeit slowly, on his own.

He just wanted to be better again, and it was the fact that it took so long that was starting to eat him up alive. The hesitation from his mum didn't help it either.

That and the apparent greying all of a sudden. He tried to think of what she had said earlier, tried not to worry, but the feeling sat at the pit of his stomach heavily, like an alive snake that made him feel sick with worry.

A vicious cycle in itself.

“Sure, mum,” He finally murmured in response when she wished him a good day and drove off.

He watched her leave, and there was a part of him that wished to just turn around and walk past the school gates and go anywhere else which could ease his worries. He could use a smoke, or even a sip of drink, neither of which had touched his lips for months. But before he could commit to any idea that was bound to land him in trouble, a light tap on his shoulder drew his attention to the source of touch. He turned around rather swiftly, feeling his hood fall back a little with the momentum, so he quickly grabbed it and tucked it over his eyes once more.

“Good morning to you too, hobit,” Phil was laughing, his hand still lightly on Dan's shoulder and it felt like the fingertips were slowly burning through the fabric of Dan's clothing. It make him remember those same fingers brushing through his hair and those arms holding him, and that breath that would inflate and deflate Phil's ribcage, with Dan's face pressed close.

He swallowed, feeling the warmth expand from his shoulder and touching his cheeks.

“Who are you calling a hobbit? You're almost the same height!” He tried his best to breathe life into his words, but found the pitch a bit too high and his lungs too empty too quickly, rendering him unusually breathless.

“Well, your hood looks like a hobbit cloak and you have naturally curly hair,” Phil grinned at him so widely that the warmth increased in Dan's cheeks tenfold, and he reached to tug for the hood again only to find the material strain over his back beneath his coat, so he let it be. He had made the effort to straighten his hair, but what had once been seen by Phil seemed to be all the other boy now saw.

“Listen, I forgot to ask you the other day,” Phil began once the two had set off towards the entrance. Dan's eyes lingered on that spot where he'd hidden many times, the one place the teachers didn't seem to ever check. His lips felt dry, without anything to do, and though he didn't miss the ashy aftertaste, he missed the peace that his mind found watching the smoke curl up in the air with the world so distant.

“Dan, are you listening?” Phil's voice broke through Dan's thoughts and he blinked, looking up at Phil who seemed to be mildly embarrassed.

“Sorry, what?” Dan asked, awkwardly leaning onto the crutch more though it was more out of a habit than the actual need for it.

“I asked if you'd like to come over,” Phil was looking ahead now, and his hands were busy gesticulating more wild than usual. Dan found himself watching them, wondering how they felt when exposed to the wintery cool; were they cold, or were they still warm to spite the weather?

“I have some games that we could play and it's always nice to get out?” There was a clear question in Phil's words and Dan allowed a smile to rest on his mouth gently.

“I will have to ask my mum,” He began only to be hushed when Phil brought his hand up in front of Dan's face, effectively causing Dan to stop also walking.

“I literally live next door, just tell her you will be at my place, I'm sure she won't mind.” And when Dan met Phil's eyes, there was a fire of determination in them, though it felt like there was something hiding behind the blue irises still, unsaid.

“S--”

“MATTHEW MONTGOMERY DOLEY!”

Dan had heard Louise speak in many different tones; motherly, excited, even slurring her words after a bit too much alcohol someone had snuck some into a party, he'd heard her sad, even angry.

This was completely different. The voice was absolutely and unashamedly furious and everyone in the school yard could hear her loud and clear.

“Louise…?” Dan's jaw dropped seeing the blonde girl go. For once her hands were free, all of her study books probably left behind wherever her bag was at, too. And she strode across the yard, in big steps, her face red and angry. She had one target, and Matt was just there, having been talking to one of the other students, now half-surprised, half-terrified as she approached. It was like he wasn't sure whether he should to run away.

“Shit,” He could hear Phil cuss under his breath and to hear that poured worry in Dan's bones.

“Wha--”

The slap could be heard across the yard, like as if someone had been broadcasting it through the speakers. Matt stumbled, grabbing onto his cheek and it didn't take being close by to see that he was absolutely stunned. But Louise didn't stop and she brought up her hand again to slap at him only to hit his shoulder when he tried to duck away from the impact.

“You. God. Damn. Idiot!” She kept going on and on, and, to Dan's horror, seemed to put her whole anger into the action.

Before he knew it, he'd started moving towards her, but Phil was quicker, running up to the commotion to drag Louise away, his arms protectively but strongly wrapped around her while she struggled, tears running down her reddened cheeks.

“Do you really think this is all about you?! Do you really think that it's just you affected? Only one who is hurt by this?! You absolute idiot!” She kept going on though dragged backwards and Matt stared at her in horror, a red blotch on his cheek where Louise's palm had come in contact with his skin.

“Stupid boy!” She managed out, a lot quieter, before she turned towards Phil in his grasp, her face hidden in his chest. Slowly, Phil released his hold only to gently envelop her in a hug, just as Dan finally caught up to the two.

Matt meanwhile had grabbed his bag that had fallen onto the wet ground out of surprise, and scuttled off, tripping over his own feet. Dan watched him disappear, before he turned to the other two.

“Louise,” Dan, just as stunned as anyone else in the yard, carefully reached out to place his hand on her back, rubbing between her shoulder blades gently to try and soothe her. She was shaking under his touch and he looked up to exchange a questioning look with Phil who looked just as confused and worried.

“Stupid, stupid boys,” She suddenly pulled away from Phil, her tearstained face full of disappointment and Dan stepped aside, not expecting the finger that she jabbed in his direction, hitting him dead center in his chest. Phil fidgeted, unsure if he was supposed to hold her from attacking Dan as well, but remained still when she made no effort in slapping him. “Can't you just understand that it's terrible watching you fight over the death of a friend. It's so stupid,” She rubbed at her face and Dan felt the corners of his mouth drooping.

“I don't want you to fight,” She finally murmured, all the usual spunk spent, her cheeks red and wet.

“Louise...” Dan began again but the words dried up in his throat before he could find a way to fully voice them. He felt the cold air around them, the silence seeping into his being like a plague and he felt like it was pressing him down to the ground.

“Let's go inside,” It was Phil who finally broke the silence between them. Dan felt the hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly, and saw that the other was on Louise's. He didn't acknowledge it, allowing Phil to steer the two of them towards the entrance and through the hallways slowly. He could hear Louise sniffle, but there were no other sounds aside from that and the three pairs of steps, the hallways unusually empty.

It wasn't long after that the three of them ended up seated in the school library, where the librarian had given them one look and the returned to stacking the returned books, not disturbing them nor reminding them to be quiet. Perhaps it was just too early to care, or perhaps she had seen the dark and tearstained expressions. It really didn't matter. All that Dan understood was that the wooden chairs were just as uncomfortable as ever and that what Louise said was still echoing brightly and loudly in his ears, next to where the usual ringing had returned with what felt like a tenfold intensity. His shoulders felt tense, like a shudder building up but never quite reaching the breaking point.

“Okay,” Phil was still the one to do the most talking when he took a seat by the table and ran a hand over his mouth and cheeks thoughtfully before setting it on the table, the palm open like he was trying to absorb some kind of energy from the dusty wood. “How are you feeling Louise?” He turned to the girl, but Dan's mind felt stuck, his whole body not responding to the willed movements the way that he would want it.

Louise wiped at her eyes, careful to not smudge the mascara more than it already was, “I'm…. fine,” She finally admitted when the silence grew and Phil nodded, offering her a gentle smile.

“You really went all out there, you could probably get a whole auditorium to listen to you without a megaphone.”

The words drew a laugh from Louise, who had always been a rather cheerful person. Even under the worst amounts of stress she would find her smile and laugh openly at the smallest amusements, and her words were always lined with that joy no matter what she talked about. She was, to Dan, the most sunny person in the world and to have seen this outburst was something new, almost apocalyptic.

He didn't know if he had to feel guilt, there was too much of it already. With the tens of calls and texts that he had left unanswered, he knew that he owed her an apology at the least. Yet his lips were mute, and his eyes stared unfocused at the backs of the books in the nearby shelf.

“Dan? How are you?” The words reached him slow and when he finally forced his limbs to cooperate, he realised that the shudder had taken over as a shiver and he drew in a shaky breath before he could look at his friends who were both watching him with a soft caution. He swallowed, when the words wouldn't come, and opened his mouth again, but his throat was soundless, so he merely nodded and leaned onto the table, head hung low, blinking at the dark wood for several seconds before he came to it again.

“Fine,” He murmured, feeling the stares, and though he usually hated them, his focus kept slipping enough that he couldn't even muster annoyance so he repeated, “Fine.”

A palm, large and warm, rested against his back and he slowly looked up, still leaning the majority of his weight on the table before him. He saw that smile, that same damn smile that held the warmth that entered his being the same way it seemed to sneak through the threads of his hoodie, pouring care into him through his spine. “I think there's something that you wanted to say to Louise,” Phil used that moment, Dan's eyes lingering on Phil longer than he'd usually allow himself, but that made him come to it again.

Dan shifted, but the hand remained on his back and he felt thankful to Phil, feeling the need for support while the tremor was still making his bones jittery and speech hard to come by.

Louise was regarding him in a familiar motherly manner, but there was still the same pain that had laced her words earlier that shone behind the green irises.

“I'm sorry, Louise,” Dan felt like a child, realising how they probably looked to anyone who might see them. So he shifted again, pushing himself to sit up straight though his limbs felt sore, the stress of days having taken its toll. “I should've answered your texts and calls, I just...” He trailed off, and his hand trailed towards his head, wanting to comb through his hair, to calm himself, to make some sense with the jumbled mess of words in his head.

“It's okay, Dan,” She responded when he didn't continue. She held out her hand, both a peace and a comfort offering and he gladly took it, allowing his cold fingers gently squeeze her warmer ones.

“I just… It feels like he's right. If I hadn't asked for that stupid cable...” He realised then and there that he had never told anyone but his family and the officials about what he could remember. Dan fell silent again, but felt the grip on his hand tighten encouragingly and Phil's palm against his back rubbed a gentle circle between his shoulderblades, just like Dan's had earlier for Louise.

“I don't know,” He finally said, defeated and withdrew his hand from Louise's only to cup his face, rubbing it, feeling the little nicks in his skin though they were more a discolouration on his skin than anything else by now.

“Hey, hey...” Her voice was always so nice, he almost hated it when he couldn't find it in himself to just accept things as they were, “Listen, Daniel,” He peeked from between his fingers at that; she used his full name the same way that his parents would, when he was in trouble or when what was to be said was extremely important. “I know it hurts, but it's not on you, not even on Matt, as much of a prick he's been lately.” Dan wanted to humour a laugh, but couldn't, just listening to the very brief chuckle that escaped Phil.

“But you need to stop and finally make up because this is getting ridiculous. We all miss Tuck, the science lab isn't the same without him, the people are less likely to volunteer helping with setting up events without him jumping into it first, even the library...” Dan didn't have to look to understand; the mystery novel section was barely touched ever since.

“Trissa was pulled from this school, and trust me, I miss having my study sessions with her,” Louise sighed, and Dan understood; he had heard it from his parents when he had finally gotten coherent enough to ask for his friends. The two girls had suffered rather minorly, but the parents hadn't taken mercy on their friendship. She hadn't returned to school with the start of the new semester and from what Dan had heard, she'd been pulled into homeschooling for a while.

“How's D'aja?” Dan asked, lowering his hands onto the table and felt Phil shift next to them, clearly trying to piece the entire story together on the go.

Louise shrugged, “I haven't really heard from her. Since Trissa left, it's been impossible to reach D'aja, but from what I've heard, she tried to talk to Matt a few weeks back and the result was….” She made a face and it was clear what had happened without her spelling it out.

It was then that the bell rung, making the trio jump in their seats, and Louise stood up, though for once unwillingly, “I will see you boys at lunch?” There was a soft plea in her tone and Dan nodded.

“You will.”

With a smile and a gentle pat on Dan's hooded head, she said her goodbyes and headed off and Dan watched her go until she disappeared behind the corner.

“You should go too, Mr. Rossenthal hates when the boys are late.” Dan eyed Phil whose hand was still on Dan's back, almost like he had forgotten to remove it but Dan couldn't really complain; it was a familiar and safe feeling that it gave.

There was a pause and Phil finally moved, withdrawing his hand only to reach for his backpack and the other boy hugged it close to his chest.

“I don't think I will go today,” He finally spoke and there was something about the words that made Dan want to question further, but before he could Phil shot him a smile, “I'm not the most athletic, they won't miss me.”

“You sure?” Phil was quick to nod, almost like he was desperate to drop the conversation and Dan didn't push anymore.

===

They were lounging in the most comfortable seats in the cafeteria post-biology when the students began pouring into the room from their classes, and it didn't take long until Louise had found and joined them, complaining that her Maths teacher didn't really consider the amount of work that they got in other classes already.

“You could just do the exams next year like everyone else,” Dan added and the look she gave him was absolutely scandalised.

“Daniel Howell, you take that back!”

Phil glanced between the two curiously while munching down on a piece of bread, and Dan explained, “She's doing her GCSEs early, because she hates me and wants to leave the school early,” That earned him a slap on the shoulder and Dan laughed, the earlier worries gone from his mind if only momentarily. The time spent outside class with Phil was a constant learning; they talked about the games Phil had, and soon found out that their interests aligned not only musically but in other forms of entertainment, too.

“I have an offer for a scholarship if I get out early,” Louise explained and Phil's eyebrows shot up so quickly Dan could only wonder how they didn't shoot off into the space.

“That's amazing!” Phil exclaimed and beamed so brightly that a faint blush took over Louise's cheeks but she didn't shy away and instead smiled brightly at him.

“I have to yet excel at my exams, but that's why I have these,” And with a careful touch, she patted the books in front of her. Dan had always laughed that she loved books more than anything else in her life and that always ended up in a friendly fighting between them. In all honesty, there was genuine joy that Dan felt though a little bitterness would sometimes find its way through it. She had been a good friend since Dan had started at this school and he dreaded the day that he wouldn't regularly run into her again in the hallways.

“So it's going to be up to you Phil to take care of my little Dan here,” As if reading Dan's mind, she suddenly added and Dan protested out loud with a 'hey', only to silence when Phil's arm landed briefly on his, a quick pat on the palm.

“Don't worry, I will. He's not getting rid of me that easily,” Phil laughed and Louise joined him. It made Dan feel unconditionally happy, watching the two, and the words that were replaying in his mind along with the ghost of Phil's touch.

“Anyway,” Dan intercepted finally, leaning forward again, pocketing his hands before the temptation to reach towards Phil could overwhelm him. He felt the yearning for more of those touches and they tugged at his stomach in a manner that Dan had never experienced before. “We're hanging out at Phil's tonight, you should join us.” He offered a questioning look to Phil, asking if extending this invitation had been alright only to see Phil enthusiastically nod.

“I wish, but I have two tests coming up,” Louise sighed, taking her fork to stab at the food on the plate.

“Come ooooon, I haven't hung out with you in months!” Dan whined and she waved her fork towards him, almost flinging a piece of potato in the air accidentally.

“And whose fault is it, not answering my calls?” And though there was a guilty truth attached to the words, there was no malice and Dan pouted at her.

“Soon?” He asked, quietly, and she nodded.

“Soon.”

===

They had said their goodbyes after lunch, their classes splitting them up effectively again. Louise ran off to her advanced ones, while Dan had the pleasure of traipsing alongside Phil to the English class again.

“I kind of want to do English after I'm done here,” Phil spoke up and Dan eyed him with curiosity. “I like filmmaking but language is so interesting and I'd like to understand it better, maybe learn to write scripts.” It seemed like Phil was gone off in his fantasy, with the way his eyes were looking ahead but not seeing, yet full of excitement that reflected in the way his arms were gesticulating to emphasise the happiness.

“Is that why your room is illuminated like the abduction of the aliens is happening behind the drawn curtains on regular basis?” Dan humoured and instantly saw bright colour flush Phil's cheeks, as if Phil was a large kid caught in lies.

“Err, yeah I guess. I like making little videos sometimes,” Phil explained vaguely, his hand digging into his pocket almost guiltily where his phone was hidden.

Dan arched his brow at that, a curious smile causing the dimples to crater his cheeks, “You have to show me some now!”

And though Phil agreed, the other boy seemed vaguely awkward about the promise. It made Dan wonder if he had overstepped some line.

#myfanfic #phanfic #phanfiction #phandom #phan #phanfiction au #phanfic au

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sciencespies · 4 years

Text

The Bottom Line About Bidets

https://sciencespies.com/nature/the-bottom-line-about-bidets/

The Bottom Line About Bidets

When I was a kid, I didn’t get in trouble for much. But one old habit of mine used to drive my dad up the wall: I really, really overdid it with the toilet paper.

It didn’t matter how thick or plush the product was. A few measly squares of dry, processed tree pulp were simply never enough to make me feel clean. So I tried to compensate for quality with quantity, wiping my bum with wad after wad of TP—something my strict father considered abominably wasteful.

To be fair, my dad grew up in rural Taiwan in the 1940s, when most defecation was done in pits, not toilets, and one’s cleanliness depended heavily on the selection of leaves and sticks within arm’s reach. Even after he immigrated to the United States in his 20s, the rural frugality stuck. Toilet paper was, and still is, a luxury—a fact that’s been heavily underscored by recent spates of panicked TP hoarding, spurred by the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic.

I couldn’t have known it at the time, but a single device might have been enough to solve both my father’s and my washroom woes—the same one that’s now flying off digital shelves nationwide: the bidet. These squirty little doodads, which cleanse the nether regions with a gentle jet of water, are touted by many as sanitizing superheroes, with powers vastly superior to those of toilet paper. In Japan, home of a popular electronic toilet called the Toto Washlet, bidets appear in about 80 percent of households; since 1975, Italian law has mandated their presence in every home. Historically slow to take in American markets, the devices may now be gaining some ground: Sales of bidet attachments like Tushy have soared since the start of the pandemic. Thanks to the new coronavirus, 2020 might just be the United States’ Year of the Bidet.

But pleasing as the devices may be to some, they’re not for everyone—and a lot of what ends up touching any given tush comes down to personal preference. What’s more, scientific studies on bidets are somewhat scarce; even clinicians who recommend their use do so mostly on the basis of anecdotal data. “This isn’t evidence-based medicine, that’s for sure,” says Madhulika Varma, chief of colorectal surgery at the University of California, San Francisco.

A brief history of the bidet

Though today’s bidets are often billed as tech-savvy trappings, the earliest iterations of the devices actually predate the appearance of modern, rolled-up toilet paper (an idea patented by Seth Wheeler of Albany, New York, in 1891), with roots in 17th-century or early 18th-century France.

Accordingly, the first bidet was agonizingly simple—little more than a souped up, sprayless wash basin over which one squatted as if straddling a horse (hence the name bidet, an homage to a small, stocky breed of horse), to rinse off their dirtied derrières. After gaining traction among the rich, the indulgent accessory trickled down to the working class, surviving several redesigns and the switch to indoor plumbing, which morphed them into miniature sinks. By World War II, bidets had spilled across international borders, finding their way into homes across swaths of Europe, the Middle East, Asia and South America, where they sat alongside toilets like faucet-fillable sidecars. As models advanced further, some acquired nozzles that could apply a light spritz of water to the nether regions.

La Toilette intime ou la Rose effeuillée by Louis-Léopold Boilly, showing an 18th century bidet in use

(Wikimedia Commons)

Through it all, the United States remained a staunchly unwetted island of desert-dry bums. Part of the issue was space. Standalone bidets were seen as an unwieldy and unwelcome addition to already-cramped American bathrooms. Eventually, technological advancements allowed bidets to hybridize with toilets, in some cases collapsing the two into a single “smart” commode, while other models retrofitted standard toilets with bidet-capable seats or attachments. But still, the United States’ reluctance to adopt the splashy gadgets endured.

Rampant stigmatization of bidets didn’t help. Many early 20th-century Americans may have viewed bidets as symbols of French indecency, linking them to taboo topics like menstruation and prostitution, Maria Teresa Hart wrote in the Atlantic in 2018. That association may have been partly born out of the devices’ presence in brothels, where women may have deployed them as an (ineffective) form of birth control. Though these stereotypes have largely faded in the decades since, the cultural inertia clung to stateside commodes.

What’s best for our butts

Bidets might seem bizarre—but in many ways, they’re right in line with hygienic practices already deeply ingrained in our society.

“The idea of cleaning yourself with water is, intuitively, more logical,” says Cindy Kin, a colorectal surgeon at Stanford University Medical Center. Water, after all, is the standard-issue treatment for doing away with bodily grime under most other circumstances.

Byron Vaughn, a gastroenterologist at the University of Minnesota Medical School, puts it more bluntly. As a friend once told him, “If you pick up a piece of [poop] with your hands, you wouldn’t just wipe it off—you’d wash it.”

But while the wet-trumps-dry argument makes logical sense, no one has yet done a scientific study to back up the idea that bidets are hygienically better than toilet paper.

Then again, “It kind of doesn’t matter,” Kin says. “If you don’t get every bit of bacteria, or a microscopic amount of stool, off your skin, it’s fine. Nothing bad will happen.” Bidets or no, most of our not-completely-immaculate butts are doing just fine, and have been for many millennia.

A modern standalone bidet, installed next to a toilet.

(Lazienka / Wikimedia Commons)

Still, bidets can really come in handy for those with sensitive undersides, says Susan Wong, a nurse and colorectal disorders specialist at the University of California, San Francisco. People with Crohn’s disease or ulcerative colitis, for instance, tend to have more frequent or painful bowel movements, and may find that a cooling jet of water brings them some relief—or at least spares them from the constant chafe of dry toilet paper. Bidet users can then dry off by simply dabbing the area with a towel, or even a carefully aimed blow dryer on a low-temperature setting. “It’s a great way to avoid irritation,” Wong says. One small study even suggests that bidets may even prompt some muscle relaxation, though most people seeking that sort of comfort might be better off opting for a sitz bath or a long soak in a tub of warm water.

Bidets could also be a boon for people with physical disabilities, muscle weakness or other conditions that hinder their ability to clean off with toilet paper alone, Vaughn says. One study suggests the devices improved the “toileting experience” for a group of nursing home residents.

Then there’s the unrepentant super-wipers, a la miniature me. Patients who “wipe obsessively” with toilet paper because they’re chasing an ever-elusive sense of clean may be at risk of giving themselves pruritus ani—fancy clinical speak for itchy butthole, Kin says. “Once you get into that cycle of skin irritation, it’s hard to get out of it.” Switching over to a bidet might bring these people’s bums some much-needed relief.

Beyond that, though, little evidence exists that bidets bring about health benefits on their own. Hemorrhoids, fistulas, fissures and cancer—none of these conditions can trace their origins to the flecks of germs or poop on our bums, Kin says. In this realm, there’s “certainly no data to suggest bidets have benefits over toilet paper.”

Varma also points out that dropping hundreds or even thousands of dollars on a fancy new bathroom appliance isn’t necessary to introduce water into this particular bathroom routine: Something similar can be accomplished with a drugstore peri bottle, or even a water bottle with a pop-up top. Both of these options are also transportable.

Many patients can even make do with what they’ve already got at home, including tubs, sitz baths or even handheld shower attachments, says Marjun Duldulao, a colorectal surgeon at the Keck School of Medicine of the University of Southern California. “There’s really no advantage to using a bidet compared to these other techniques.”

Bidets can bring some increased comfort—but people should be wary of pressure and temperature settings that could agitate sensitive bums.

( Karl Tapales / Getty Images)

Bidets also aren’t perfect—and wielded improperly, they can cause their own woes. Several models come equipped with pressure and temperature settings that could cause serious damage. Over the years, a smattering of bidet-related injuries, from burns to rectal prolapse and anal fissures, have surfaced, often linked to overuse. Even pruritis ani can (re)appear when the anus is too frequently washed. “You just need sensible cleaning and hygiene,” Duldulao says. “You don’t need a power-washing.”

And, just like any other appliance, bidets must be kept clean—especially considering the bits of anatomy they most often contact. A handful of studies have found bacteria lurking on the nozzles of electronic toilets, particularly those in public spaces. Under extreme circumstances, bidet use could even perturb the community of beneficial microbes found in the vagina, though studies haven’t consistently born this out.

“There are some very good products out there,” Duldulao says. “But a tool is a tool. It’s only as good as the person who’s using it.”

Making a splash

Toilet paper will always have one thing going for it: convenience. “There’s a reason we all use it,” Varma says. “It can be done anywhere. It’s easy, it’s simple.”

Part of the tradeoff for this, of course, is quite a bit of waste. The product of a laborious process that involves the pulping of millions of trees and billions of gallons of water, toilet paper isn’t exactly environmentally friendly, says Wong. It can also clog pipes (though not as badly as so-called “flushable” wipes), creating headaches for homeowners. These issues wouldn’t totally evaporate with a switch to bidets—most people would still want something to dab themselves dry—but washing in lieu of at least some wiping could make a difference.

And yet, the United States stands firm on toilet paper. Kin estimates that less than 10 percent of her patients use bidets; those numbers might budge slightly given current pandemic purchasing habits, but probably not by much.

“I ask my patients, can you consider this electronic toilet seat?” Wong says. “They all turn their noses up to it.”

People just aren’t fans of change—and sometimes, that’s just kind of a bummer.

#Nature

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thedarkenedkeeper · 7 years

Text

Glitched: Part 5 - Say Goodbye

Author’s Note: Firstly, I apologize for how long this came out. I didn’t know it was going to be this long, believe me. Secondly, there is actually two parts to this part. It came out far longer than I had thought, so I had to sever this part into two parts. The second part to this will be Part 6, which will leave off right from the end of this.

Daily reminder: This fanfiction series is an angsty horror story. It’s dark and there’s nothing remotely happy about any of it. This chapter in particular is centered entirely on the events of “Say Goodbye”. As such, there is an uneasy sense of dread that gets dragged out throughout the story. Knives come into play and nearing the climax, there is a detailed bloody scene that could be disturbing to some readers. You have been warned….Enjoy!

Listen to this playlist while reading :)

3:17 P.M. – exactly forty-three more minutes until his execution.

The weakened Irishman stared at the watch as he delved deep into thought. Slowly but surely everything that had happened back in October was coming back to him in fragments. He could remember the excruciating headaches, and how at times, he thought he had been losing his mind, convinced he was hearing and seeing things. The nightmares – he could never forget those. Those had permanently scarred his brain; those weren’t getting forgotten anytime soon unfortunately.

But what had happened close to Halloween? What caused him to be where he was now – in a pitch-black, glacial prison cell with his brutalized wrists and ankles linked to the wall? How had that unstable, insidious manifestation managed to gain control over him and his body?

Jack groaned as he pushed himself up off the ground and sat up straight, running a blood-caked hand through his greasy mop of green hair. He moved to lean and sit back against the brick wall, letting out a dry sigh of exhaustion. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying hard to conjure up the memories of what had happened on October 29th, the day he was supposed to have recorded his Halloween video. Why couldn’t he think clearly in here? Why was it so hard for him to remember? Maybe it was something about this room. He was already getting weaker by the second; maybe it affected him mentally as well. Perhaps the air was capable of fogging up his brain and giving him temporary amnesia. He had been here for a long time – nine months, to be exact. What would happen if he remained here a whole lot longer? What would happen then? Would he lose his memory all together? He felt his unsteady heart skip a few beats at the notion of the thought. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, attempting to desperately call out to his memories.

Come on, Sean. Focus! He scolded himself, Stop thinking about what’s happening now and remember back to Halloween. Come on, what happened? Why are you here? Remember, damn it! Remember!

* * * * *

October 29th – two days before Halloween. Time to put together his Halloween video.

Yes, he knew it wasn’t the 31st just yet, but given his daily routine of recording two days in advance, it had to be done. And after today, he wouldn’t record anything for a week. He had made a promise to Signe he would take a week-long break after this one video, and he planned to keep that promise. No more gameplay, recording, or videos for a week. The community would understand, she had told him. And knowing just how caring and supportive the fandom was, he knew this to be true. There wasn’t anything to worry about…Except there was.

Ever since he woke up that morning, he couldn’t take his mind off of the nightmare he had had last night. It had been so horrifying, so vivid – he could’ve sworn all of it had actually happened. Everything he had seen, heard, smelled, FELT, had all been far too real to fully wrap his head around. It was nauseating just thinking about it. It took a lot of convincing himself to believe it had only been a dream. When he had gotten up, he had stumbled into the washroom and instantly, the first thing he did was look at his reflection to see if there was a wide-open gash along his throat. To his relief, there was nothing there, and he managed to laugh it off sourly.

These dreams of his were really taking a toll on him. As each day passed, as each nightmare grew worse, he swore he was losing more and more of his sanity. Endless nightmares for two weeks straight – that wasn’t normal, surely it wasn’t. He had told Signe that all of this – the nightmares, the insomnia, the headaches – was all a result of stress from working too hard, and she had bought it. Hell, he himself had almost managed to fall for his own lies. Yet, as much as he truly wanted to believe what he had said, as much as he really wanted to agree with his girlfriend and say stress was the problem in all of this, there was an uncomfortable tangled knot of denial and dread swelling up in his chest. Somehow he knew, deep down, stress from work was not the issue here, there was something much worse at play. What that was exactly, he hadn’t the slightest clue. He didn’t even know where to begin. Other than what Signe had said about work being the cause, he couldn’t remotely conjure up a theory on what had caused all of this. He just knew his work wasn’t the reason for his nightmares, especially given what said nightmares were about.

The horrors that plagued his mind repeatedly were ones of bloodshed and always involved a demented, distorted version of himself that managed to send chills up and running underneath his skin. Every time he’d hear that distinctive haunting giggle of sadistic delight, he’d physically feel his bones rattle with trepidation, immediately enduring a horrible overwhelming sense of death in the room with him. He didn’t understand why he had these dreams, let alone why they were always very similar in nature. It could not be normal to have the same nightmare playing over and over again for two weeks straight, getting increasingly more visceral. This could not be a symptom of having stress – this was far too out of the ordinary and disturbing to be one. And the noises he’d hear every now and again, as well as the shadows he’d see moving out of the corner of his eye…none of that was from stress, he knew this for a fact. But then if that was the case – if none of these things he had been experiencing for this whole month had anything to do with stress from work – it left the most unnerving unanswered question hanging over his head like a pendulum blade that would decapitate him at any given moment.

What WAS responsible for this entire abnormal phenomenon?

He sighed deeply, rubbing at his sore sleep-deprived eyes as he stood there in his recording room, making an attempt at waking himself up fully. Poor Jack, he was still so tired, even though he had already finished downing his fourth cup of coffee that day. Signe had tried to get him to take it easy on the caffeine and get some rest, but he had no time for sleep; he needed to do this video. He couldn’t post nothing for Halloween – what kind of YouTuber would he be to do that to his community? He needed to get this filmed, and yet he was so drained. His eyes were sore from the lack of sleep and every few minutes, he’d suddenly find his vision swimming for a brief moment; his body swaying slightly where he’d be standing. He couldn’t blame Signe for being concerned, but he reassured her more than once that he was alright. About an hour ago, he had told her he was going to go and record his video, and if he needed any help or if he suddenly didn’t feel well, then he would put off the recording and immediately call for her. Her face had had worry written all across it, but she didn’t argue with him; she simply nodded in agreement before carrying on with what she had been doing.

And now here he was, in his recording room, trying desperately to stay wide awake and get things ready for the video.

Just like what he had done the previous year, the YouTuber had settled on the idea of doing yet again another pumpkin-carving video for Halloween. He had a lot of fun doing it last year, so why not do it again? He had already set up his table, complete with a few lit tea lights sitting atop of it and a string of orange lights along the front edge. As usual, his whiteboard was hanging on the back of the door, now reading “HAPPY HALLOWEEN” in big capital letters. The pumpkin he was going to carve was sitting in the direct center of the table, accompanied with the tools he’d use to cut and gut it with. He set up the camera a few feet away from the table before taking a step back to make sure everything looked the way he wanted it to. He smiled, pleased with it all. Perhaps he should show everyone, give them all a teaser for what they’d receive on Halloween. Smiling brightly at the idea, Jack took out his phone and decided he’d film everything before putting it on Instagram for all of his fans to see. He focused the camera on the table, showing off the contents sitting upon it.

“Yay! Halloween!” He said with glee clear as day in his voice. It kind of surprised him, given just how tired he felt. “Carving pumpkins is - !” And suddenly, he stopped.

He immediately turned and locked his eyes on the door, staring at it, alarmed. In that moment, he could’ve sworn he had heard something move from right outside the door, followed by a very faint giggle – that exact same giggle from his dream – that no one would probably notice except for him. After a beat and giving his heart a moment to relax, he finally worked out a response, not wanting to leave his fans wondering what was wrong.

“I swear to God, I keep hearing something.” And as soon as he was finished saying that, he ended the recording before taking another look back at the door.

Swallowing the lump in his throat and feeling a bit on edge now, he neared the door, reaching out for the knob. Taking a breather to steady his nerves, he yanked open the door and popped his head out, taking a hesitant look down the hall. There was nothing there.

“Sig?” He called out, wondering if maybe it had been her he had heard moving around. “Sig, was that you?”

There was a long pause before finally, he saw her peer out from around the corner, looking quite puzzled.

“What was me?”

Jack blinked, taking a brief moment to collect his thoughts. Don’t tell her, He insisted, She’s already worried as is. No need to scare her further, even if Halloween is right around the corner. He shook his head, chuckled lightly, and smiled.

“Nevermind, it’s nothing. Just making sure you’re still around, that’s all.”

He noticed her raise a brow out of further confusion, but she didn’t bother to question him. She shrugged her shoulders and turned to leave, shaking her head. As soon as she did, the Irishman returned to his room, closing the door behind him. A shaky breath left him as he took his hand off the knob, his eyes still not leaving the door. He was convinced he had heard something running by his room a moment ago. And that giggle…There was no mistaking that giggle. That had been the exact same eerie childish giggle from his nightmare last night.

He shut his eyes and shook his head. Get a hold of yourself, man! Stop this. Don’t go torturing yourself. He told himself. You cannot be thinking about last night right now. You have more important things to be concerned about at the moment. You can deal with all of this later, but for now, you need to get your head in the game.

He nodded in agreement with his own subconscious and reopened his eyes, shifting his attention from the door to the table that had been set up. Letting out a sigh, forcing a smile to come to his face, and shoving his worries aside for now, Jack finally set to work.

* * * * *

“Top of the mornin’ to you laddies! My name is Jacksepticeye, and welcome back to carving pumpkins!” The green-haired man exclaimed with much gusto to his audience, a bright lively smile on his face. “We did one of these last year, and I think it’s a cool tradition to just do a carving pumpkin video every year. So welcome back! Happy birthday! Happy Halloween birthday to the pumpkins!“ He quickly corrected himself, smile never leaving his face. Typical Jack – all goofs, smiles, and glowing with positivity.

He carried on, addressing the viewers and telling them what he was planning to do. He showed them the tools he’d be using to carve the pumpkin, advising them all of what they’d need to do this. But unknowingly to him, all the while, the demon lurking in the back of his mind was plotting. The creature came crawling out of the darkness and watched through the light, noticing how his host was currently on camera, doing a recording for the community. He grinned from ear to ear, knowing today was the day he’d finally take control once and for all. It was time to cut Jacksepticeye out of the picture and make way for someone far more superior.

There was only one problem: the barrier.

There was a barrier up in front of him, keeping him at bay from being able to possess his host. No matter what he did, he couldn’t bring that indestructible field down, not even slightly, and if he couldn’t get it to move, there was no possible way for him to gain control. He had noticed how over the last two weeks it had slowly but surely managed to move – a slight crack becoming visible – but it wasn’t nearly large enough for him to slip through. How had he made it move? During those two weeks he had tormented Jack with endless nightmares, keeping him up at late hours of the night. He had gotten him so worked up and paranoid.

That was it. Fear was the answer to all of this. If he could frighten the man – if he could get him scared enough, so on edge his heart would race and he’d have trouble concentrating – maybe the barrier would come down just enough for him to get to the other side. It was worth a shot.

Eyeing the camera from within the Irishman’s mind, Anti concentrated hard and within seconds, he found himself now standing in Jack’s room, now outside of his body. Naturally, Jack couldn’t see him – he wasn’t able to; he just continued on with his recording, talking to the camera. The demon didn’t have a physical form, and as such, was unable to be seen by anyone unless he was possessing someone. Without a body, he was just a glitching apparition; invisible to the naked eye…that was unless he managed to corrupt the camera and show himself through that.

He stood there and turned around to see Jack, watching his host address the viewers about how he was “so unprepared” and needed to get something to wipe the marker off of the pumpkin he was going to carve. As the demon watched him get up to go and grab a damp paper towel, Anti eyed the spoon on the table and figured he’d start off small – not just get Jack’s attention but everyone else’s as well. Let them all know something was up. Taking a glance over to where Jack had left for a brief moment, a flicker of erratic energy sprang from Anti’s body and struck the spoon, making it rattle ever so slightly. It just so happened at that exact moment Jack had chosen to return to the room, and when he noticed the spoon rattling, he didn’t think much of it, if anything he thought the noise was annoying and took the spoon off the table. The glitch frowned, not pleased with the reaction he got. He needed to try harder – do something that would instantly trigger the Irishman emotionally and actually get fear flowing into the pathetic carcass he called a body.

Jack carried on with what he was doing; drawing on the face he was planning to carve into the pumpkin. Proud with the end result and after revealing it to the audience, it was time to cut open the head of the squash and get inside. There were two knives – one larger than the other – and as soon as Anti noticed, the demon couldn’t contain the giggle that wanted out; watching his host lift the large kitchen knife to start cutting into the pumpkin. Unknowingly to Jack, at that moment the screen had rippled briefly. And instantly, the green-haired man tensed up and his ears perked up, eyes immediately looking up and off into the distance, staring off into space like a deer to the headlights. His fist-sized organ of innocence skipped a painful beat. There it was again – that unsettling giggle that always made him feel like he was being watched, like he was being toyed with.

“The fuck was that?” He questioned, continuing to look at the opposite side of the room for another brief moment, confusion clear across his face. He set the knife down, and stood up, going out to see what the source of the ominous giggle was. “Hello?”

With him out of the room, Anti took his chance to get the audience’s attention – to actually let them know that Jack wasn’t as alone as he thought. Messing with the camera, static raced across the screen in seconds flat, everything in the room getting bleached a pale green on camera. And for half a second, Anti made himself known; leaning down and smiling devilishly, wearing the exact same attire as Jack. Blink and anyone would miss it, although it was hard to miss the long bloody slit stretched out across his throat.

After getting no response to his “hello”, the green-haired Irishman returned, taking his seat and looking puzzled and admittedly quite a bit spooked.

“That was weird.” He said oddly, his eyes drifting over to the large kitchen knife he had had in his hand a moment ago. He lifted his hand to grab it, although given the way he was looking at it, he almost seemed hesitant to do so….Almost like he was afraid of it. Finally, he picked it up, muttering under his breath, “…the fuck was that?”

His eyes went to the pumpkin, about to return to what he had been doing before he had been interrupted, except he couldn’t bring himself to start cutting just yet. Something seemed really wrong. Something was off; he could feel it in his gut. There was that daunting sense of death lurking around him again. He recognized it from the way his blood had gone ice-cold and how he found it suddenly difficult to concentrate, let alone move. His attention drifted from the pumpkin back to the knife in his hand, staring at it with what his viewers would probably deduce as fascination. This blade…he’d seen it before, in a dream more than once. His eyes scanned the glistening knife, looking it over slowly as pieces of his nightmare from the other night flashed before his eyes, seeing the glitching version of himself holding the exact same knife…

…And how it had raised it to its throat…

…and cut through its veins one by one, having warm crimson blood spew out onto Jack’s face…

…how Jack had felt that burning pain of his own throat tearing open…

He felt chills run all throughout his body. The kitchen knife suddenly felt freezing cold in his hand now for some reason. And strangely, as he held the knife and gently touched the sharp blade, he somehow felt drawn to it, like there was something more to all of this. It wasn’t just a knife; it wasn’t just the fact how he had seen that distorted abomination slicing his flesh open with the exact same knife that bothered him. There was something else…Something…dark…

Something compelling.

His heart stuttered when he began to hear the words that that sinister duplicate of himself had whispered and repeated in his nightmare, slithering around and echoing in the back of his head like the ghostly earworms they were.

“Unw-wanted…I-In the way…”

“M-My host…A-All mi-ine.”

“I-In the way….I-In the way…”

“EnD It aLL!”

“Unw-wanted…I-In the way…”

“I-In the way….I-In the way…”

It all sounded like a recitation of sorts, a chant made to push him over the edge of insanity. His aqua-blue eyes that had once held so much light but were now dulling down with fear were transfixed on the shining knife as he heard the voices taunt him. His heartbeat slowed down to an unsteady pace, nothing but the sound of his blood pumping loudly in his ears. He didn’t know why, but the more the voices spoke – the more the words jabbed at him with insistence that he was “in the way” – he realized his mind was beginning to swim in a pool of compulsion. The longer he held the kitchen utensil, the more he found himself contemplating about raising it to his throat. He was tempted; curious to know what the cool steel would feel like slicing through the layers of muscle. Curious to know what would happen if he just stopped everything.

It would be so easy…He could press it against his windpipe, and…

Stop! Don’t even think about it! What the fuck are you doing thinking about something like that?! His subconscious snapped. You’re still on camera right now. He reminded himself. You don’t have time for this.

Brushing off the feeling and acting like nothing had happened, Jack lifted the knife up to the top of the pumpkin and returned to the task at hand; naming the pumpkin Gerald before cutting open its head. Though he was putting on an act, Anti had seen everything. He knew the man had heard his giggle, and when that had happened, he instantly could smell the fear radiating off of his host. He had heard his heart skip a few beats and he had seen the way he had looked at the knife, clearly having gotten triggered by seeing it. The demon knew far too well of what he had been thinking of: the last nightmare he had given him. And knowing exactly how that dream had affected him since then, Anti was confident his plan would work. Jack would succumb to fear, and once it became too much, that’s when he’d strike.

For minutes at a time, the glitching entity had his fun causing the screen to glitch out at times – ranging from brief ripples to lines of grainy static. At one moment in particular, he wanted to take things a step further and really fuck up the Irishman. He slithered his way back into his host for a few quick moments, just long enough to send a bolt of searing pain through to the man’s brain. Right as Jack was opening up Gerald’s head, a wave of nausea hit him with brutal force. The smell wasn’t sitting well with him, which was odd, given how he had been fine when he did this last year. Suddenly, the scent of copper flooded his senses and he felt something warm oozing from his nose.

“What the - ?” He lifted a hand to his nose and pulled it back, only to have his eyes widen in horror at seeing blood now smeared across his finger. “Oh my God! What the fuck?…Jesus Christ!” Covering his nose and trying to stop the bleeding, the Irishman immediately sprung up from his seat and headed out the door.

Once more, with Jack out of the room, Anti had the opportunity to tease everyone. The screen glitched out spastically, revealing the entity now sitting in Jack’s spot, eyeing the camera with a most sinister expression of delight. As quickly as he had shown himself, the YouTuber had come back into the room, taking his seat and exclaiming how he never got nosebleeds. However, though he was laughing it off as nothing but an odd coincidence, underneath the façade, the green-haired man was actually beginning to truly get worried about what was going on. It was true, he never did get nosebleeds; he couldn’t remember the last time he had ever had one. And for one to suddenly happen out of the blue, around Halloween no less…

For a fleeting moment, he had considered putting an end to the video and calling for Signe, but the Jacksepticeye part of him refused to do so. He didn’t want to disappoint the community, he wanted to give them a Halloween video, and so help him, he would make this video no matter what happened – he would not stop recording. Whatever he heard, saw, thought about, or felt that would unease him in the most horrible ways, he would NOT. Stop. Recording.

As the video progressed, things were becoming more out of the ordinary. More glitches of the screen were occurring with the YouTuber completely oblivious to them, and shadows of figures were appearing in the corners of the room. At one point, Jack’s right eye started acting up – twitching for some unexplainable reason while he was gutting Gerald. Some of the things the Irishman was starting to say were actually quite dark and unnatural to hear coming out of his mouth if really scrutinized and thought about, like how right at the moment, he was slicing the knife into Gerald, attempting to cut out his face.

“Stop resisting, Gerald!” He grunted through his clenched teeth. “It’s time…to DiE!” Jack’s face suddenly glitched out violently as a harsh growl rippled from his vocal cords.

The way he had said those words, especially when he said “die” – that didn’t sound like the Jack everyone knew. It sounded violent and menacing, like if Gerald was an actual person, he’d be slicing him open right now, killing him with no mercy. It would be rather disconcerting for anyone who would end up watching this. And yet, almost immediately, he slipped right back into his giggly, overly-happy self. He was just finishing up gouging out Gerald’s second eye when he suddenly made out stomping coming from nearby. The Irishman sat up straight, nervously shifting in his seat as he glanced around the room, mainly upward as he tried to deduce where the sound was coming from, let alone what could possibly be causing it. Once more, his anxiety levels were starting to skyrocket and his heart was beginning to quicken out of fear.

“I swear to God, I’m hearing something.” He stated, looking bewildered as ever. There was no way of faking the paranoia on his face or in his nervous mannerisms. “This is fuckin’ freaking me out.” He admitted.

For the third time, he got up from the table, went to the door, and stepped out to figure out what was going on. He walked up and down the hall, searching everywhere for the source of the thumping, but to no avail. Signe at one point stepped out to ask what was going on. He told her the truth – that he could’ve sworn he heard a loud noise coming from out there in the hall – but if there had been a noise, she seemed to have not heard it, if her perplexed and concerned expression was anything to go off of.

Meanwhile, the insidious monstrosity made another appearance, except this time it was far more sinister. He smiled deviously at the camera before fiercely glitching forward and staring at the audience with abyssal eyes, blood running down from the deep gash in his neck. The screen glitched out spastically only then to shortly reveal Anti slitting his own throat with a twisted jack o’ lantern-like grin plastered on his pale face. Anyone who was sane who would end up watching this would surely feel disturbed by seeing this. Witnessing a demented version of Jack cutting his own throat open – It would terrify millions. The nightmare fuel would be incredibly strong, and of course, Anti knew this. He wanted to send the message loud and clear to his creators. He was going to put an end to their loving Jacksepticeye, and if they truly didn’t want him to do it, then it was too late. They had seen him coming all month long, they couldn’t deny that. He had shown himself time and time again, making brief cameos in a majority of the Irishman’s videos and most often displaying completely manic behavior. There was no possible way that any of them couldn’t have noticed, let alone conclude what he was planning to do to the poor YouTuber. Yes, the demon had originally assumed that the community had given him life to get rid of Jack, but just to be sure, he had decided to give them a choice. He decided to wait and let it drag out until the end of the month.

They had a whole month to put an end to the madness…and they did nothing.

They had made him wait for so long; getting increasingly more impatient to finally be able to possess his host. And finally – FINALLY – after seeing his creators do nothing to stop him, Anti grinned and knew exactly what that meant: they truly wanted to see their powerful creation at work and dispose of the YouTuber. And if that’s what they wanted, then he would do it with pride.

After a couple of minutes, Jack came back into the room, still looking shaken and on edge. He took his seat, his eyes traveling around the room nervously.

“Maybe it’s just the neighbours I’m hearing.” He said in an attempt not only to convince his community but himself as well. He was currently trying to conjure up any logical explanation for what he had heard, and it was becoming quite a feeble challenge. “Sounds like something, like, walking around or something like…stomping or banging. Christ.” He took quick nervous glances at the camera as he said this before attempting to distract himself with finishing carving Gerald. “Maybe I’m just paranoid ‘cause it’s Halloween.” He was saying this more to himself than he was to the audience.

As Jack went back to cutting away at the pumpkin, it was plainly obvious at this point that something wasn’t right with the YouTuber. In comparison to how he had been at the beginning of the video, he didn’t seem nearly as cheery, energetic, or animated. He still put on a smile and carried on like all was okay.

Not a single thing was okay.

How he was able to continue on with the recording without having a mental breakdown was beyond him. At this point, he had had enough. The things he was hearing and thinking about, as well as how he had gotten a nosebleed and how he genuinely felt like he was being watched – and not just by the audience on the other side of the camera…He was shaken. He may have looked like he was having a fun time carving a pumpkin for Halloween, but there was nothing fun about this, not anymore. His heart was racing with apprehension and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the act. He NEEDED to wrap up the video. He NEEDED to finish working on Gerald and end the recording on letting the community know he was going to be on break for a week, explaining how he needed time for himself and Signe. He NEEDED to stop.

He was cutting out Gerald’s mouth when Anti got a strong whiff of fear coming off of the Irishman. It was so intense; it sent a shiver up the entity’s spine. A toothy Cheshire grin stretched across his face. That would do it. Immediately, he reached out to the YouTuber and pulled himself back into his body. Through the eternal darkness, he stormed up to the barrier, neon-green eyes searching for a larger opening. And sure enough, there was one. The amount of fear he had managed to pump into this weak excuse for a human being had lowered the barrier quite a bit, revealing a gaping opening just large enough for him to slip through. He giggled with sadistic pleasure at this, knowing exactly what had to be done in order for him to fully take control. He was going to have to kill him – or harm him severely at least. This was Jack’s body; he was the one in control. Anti was like a parasite in comparison, and as such, trying to possess the green-haired man would be a challenge. The only way he’d be able to yank the YouTuber out of the way was to harm him, make him lose consciousness. His eyes flickered a soulless black for a brief moment as he chuckled.

It was time for the Irishman to relive his nightmare – for real this time.

Jack had finally finished carving Gerald, wiping off the left-over marks on the pumpkin before showing him off to the camera. He was very pleased with the end result, but he knew that he had to wrap up the video. He smiled and went to grab the small knife, going to add some finishing touches before giving the news to the community. He glanced at the camera, still acting like he was okay.

“Okay! So the last thing you want to do is get your knife and you’re gonna have to do fine - .”

With no warning, his heart gave a painful pang in his chest, his blood freezing up all throughout his veins. He stared down at the jack o’ lantern in his hands, noticing how his vision was beginning to slowly fade in and out and how his breathing was oddly steading out, remaining calm. Something wasn’t right.

The edges of his vision were starting to go black, struggling to focus on what he had been doing. He heard something – an ominous, deep chuckle resounding all around him – before a high-pitched ringing pierced his eardrums. He went to wince and finally drop the act, cowering in fear…but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. He tried to raise his hands or even jerk his head, but he was frozen in place; his entire body paralyzed. He didn’t understand what was happening. He couldn’t control his body; he couldn’t physically move any one of his limbs no matter how hard he tried. Panic was settling in as he struggled. He was beginning to feel distant, like somehow he was a ghost and had no physical form to manipulate.

He suddenly felt himself raising his head, eyes meeting the lens of the camera; the red light on, indicating how it was still very much recording. His brows furrowed in confusion. He hadn’t been able to move his head, and yet, just now, he had felt himself move. But he hadn’t done that himself. He hadn’t wanted to look at the camera at all; if anything, he wanted to immediately get out of this room, call for Signe, and get help. None of this was normal! Everything finally came crashing down on him – something sinister and cruel was doing all of this, and quite frankly, he did not want anything to do with it. He was innocent – one of the kindest, most caring individuals anyone would ever meet. Some of his fans even considered him to be far too pure for this world. So why was this happening to him? Why had he been on a psychotic mental rollercoaster of hell for the last couple of weeks? He didn’t deserve this!

Looking directly at the camera, he lurched forward and screamed out for help, hoping like hell Signe – or anyone for that matter! – would hear him and come bursting through the door. But nothing came out of his mouth. His lips hadn’t even separated to release the scream. Instead, he realized that he was staring at the camera, deadpanned; eyes glazed over with absolutely no emotion whatsoever. No fear, no worry, nothing to show how terrified and desperate the man was. His expression was completely unreadable.

Not being able to manipulate his own body, Jack felt as well as watched as he slowly raised his right hand – the hand armed with the small carving knife. Like he had been struck with lightning, seeing that knife triggered a series of images from his nightmare to flash before his eyes at a dizzying speed; a compilation of every spine-tingling, heart-pounding, graphic scene that had occurred. The last image was of the demonic duplicate of himself, smirking wickedly and slicing his neck open, bleeding out. Jack felt his heart drop at the realization of what was happening. His nightmare was coming true.

Desperately trying to gain control over his body, Jack writhed and wailed, pleading for whatever that was doing this to stop. Unfortunately for him, the creature that was in his head – the malignant mangled thing that had slid past the barrier and was now pulling at the strings – wasn’t listening, nor was it taking any pity on him. If anything, the monstrosity was taking twisted delight out of hearing the man’s screams. Helplessly, the Irishman watched himself raise the knife to this throat, feeling the cold press of the blade against his flesh. He squirmed as his breaths came out laboured, tears prickling at his eyes now. He needed to stop this, he couldn’t die! He could NOT die!

“SIGNE!” He yelled, desperation tainting his shrill voice, tears leaving his eyes and racing down his cheeks. But once more, nothing escaped the poor man’s actual physical mouth.

An abrupt psychotic laugh rang out through his mind as he continued to call out for his beloved girlfriend, holding onto a loose thread of hope. But it was too late. All hope was gone now.

Wincing in sudden agony, the green-haired YouTuber felt the blade pierce his skin. Arching forward and snapping his head back, Jack let out a bloodcurdling scream, searing-hot pain ripping through his throat as the knife slowly got dragged along his windpipe; tearing open the flesh and the fragile veins beneath. Though he wasn’t in control of his body, the Irishman felt everything. He felt his neck muscles spasming and getting pulled apart, while his veins and arteries got severed one after another; plucked at like strings on a guitar. He could feel the cold, razor-sharp blade digging deep into his throat, cutting open his trachea and having his blood flood inside. Thick streams of warm crimson rushed out of the wide gash in his neck as the smell of copper overcame him instantly. His vision was flashing red, fading in and out a whole lot slower now.

Lub-dub…lub-dub…lub…dub…lub……dub…

All he could hear was his heart pounding violently but sluggishly in his ears, feeling extremely nauseated all of a sudden. He tried to give out one last scream for help only to sputter and choke on the blood he could taste in his mouth, not being able to breathe properly. He reached outward towards the camera, tears streaming down his face as he struggled to speak, but nothing came out except for a gurgling croak of pain.

Hearing nothing but constant demonic, evil laughter reverberating all around him, the Irishman collapsed, feeling the ground slipping out from under him and falling through endless darkness. A force inside of him hauled him down, and it wasn’t until then that he truly did feel disconnected from his body. He no longer felt in control, he no longer felt any pain. He didn’t feel anything. He felt empty and cold. He WAS like a ghost. It was like his consciousness was getting dragged off somewhere, but where to, he didn’t know. Mustering as much strength as he had left, he called out one last time.

“HELP ME!”

And as he got sucked down into the abyss, all he kept asking himself before his eyes slipped shut was a haunting question that was festering in his gut: Am I dead?

* * * * *

He had finally done it. His plan had been a success and the demon could no longer contain his joy.

He had killed his host, and oh the reaction he got had been totally worth the wait. Seeing and hearing the crippling mess of a man break down in tears and scream for help had been priceless. The Irishman didn’t know what had hit him until it was far too late.

As soon as the glitchy manifestation had sliced open the man’s throat and let him drop dead, Anti slithered through the YouTuber’s insides and crawled underneath his skin, adjusting himself into his brand new meatsuit. With no warning, the dead bleeding-out man sprung up and reached out to the camera, letting loose a string of maniacal laughter as the screen glitched out spastically. The screen went black for a brief moment, only a muffled yell for help barely being audible in the darkness. Very faintly, the image began coming back, the entire room and everything in it now green with static breaking out every couple of seconds. There he sat exactly where Jack had been moments ago, now in control of the Irishman’s corpse. The entity was hunched over, head down, as his shoulders shook; soft cheerful yet unnerving giggling easily being heard coming from him.

He had won.

With a violent glitch of the screen, Anti sat up straight and finally got to show off to his creators once and for all that he was here now, quite literally in the flesh. His behavior seemed a tad bit bipolar as he addressed his makers. One moment he’d be extremely pleased with what he had done and grin widely, letting out an occasional twisted laugh accompanied with a crazed look in his eyes. And the next, he’d display outrage and displeasure, stabbing the knife into Gerald; his head twitching and glitching in every which way violently, and the intervals in his voice changing drastically. At his core, he was boiling over with fury at how long he had had to wait for this day – how long they had all kept him impatiently waiting inside for the perfect time to strike and get what he earned. He even went as far as giving them all one big in-your-face reminder that this is what they had wanted, that all of this was their fault. It may have seemed like an attempt to get them to all feel guilt-ridden, but if they had truly wanted to stop Anti, they had had their chance and they blew it. And so, if there had been any few members of the fandom that had wanted to save Jack but didn’t, then they would take the blame half-heartedly. He would make them all remember this day, how they had given him life and set him loose on Jack like a rabid dog set off its lease to devour a vulnerable rabbit.

However, as much as he was pissed off with the community, he couldn’t remain that way for long. After all, he was far more pleased with himself than ever. He had done exactly as they had wanted: He had cut Jack out of the picture – quite literally – and replaced him, giving his creators the dangerous, manic superior being they had wanted from the very beginning. And he was filled with pride, so much so that the smile on his face couldn’t come off. He was like a child, proudly showing off his work to his parents. Feeling his human body growing weak, he gave his last few unforgettable words to the audience, letting it sink into their heads that the Irishman was gone forever. And giggling happily, the screen went black and he collapsed in his chair; losing consciousness from the blood loss. As everything faded to black and he returned to inside the green-haired man’s head, the entity smiled brightly.

He had made his creators proud.

He had won.

Part 4 - Glitch in the System

Part 6 - Stitched Together

@fear-is-nameless @golden-eyed-guardians @n-o-ra-xi @steffid101 @sorrybutitsnowornever

#this took forever to write #came out way longer than i had in mind #and oh my god the research i had to do for this was nuts #i had to keep rewatching say goodbye over and over again #the war flashbacks were real #antisepticeye #anti #jacksepticeye #antisepticeye fanfiction #anti fanfiction #jacksepticeye fanfiction #antisepticeye fanfic #anti fanfic #jacksepticeye fanfic #horror #glitched

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smuttyaf · 7 years

Text

Mr. Hemmings

To be honest, you don’t know where this new found confidence is coming from since you’re normally a red face blubbering mess in front of him. Maybe it was the wink he sent you this morning or his eyes constantly roaming down your body, whatever it was made your confidence boost and let your wild side escape.

Words: 5.5K

Request: No

Rating: R [A HIGH AMOUNT OF DOMINANCE AND TALKING DIRTY]

The sound of your bedroom door creaking open and the shutters of your blinds getting pulled up had your eyes beginning to peal open, the sunlight shinning through the curtains had a hiss falling from your lips as you turn your body over to look at whomever decided to disturb you so early in the morning.

“Y/N what time did you go to bed last night?” Your mom questions as you hear her wining your window open. The sound of birds chirping and lawn mowers shaving long strands of grass begin to flutter into your ears.

“I don’t know, two maybe four in the morning?” You respond while groaning and throwing your head into your pillowcase, the softness of the pillow comforting you as you let a please sigh slip from your lips.

“Really Y/N! Why were you up so late?” Your mom ask with such frustration in her voice that your actually scared to look at her, but you’re actually relieved when she sits down at the foot of your bed and begins to rub your calf in her thigh.

“I was binge watching The Vampire Diaries sue me.” You say, voice muffled because of the pillow but your mom lets a tired sigh fall from her lips before pinching your calf gently.

“You shouldn’t be doing that. It’s bad for your body.” Your mom says, only leaving you to blink your eyes open and roll them.

“Ugh.” You groan before turning around in her grasp and looking up at her, the sunlight somewhat blinding your eyes.

“It’s the truth Y/N, anyways freshen up. Breakfast is downstairs and I need to talk to you also.” Your mom states while rising up and off the bed, her warm skin leaving your body, causing you to pout.

“What do we need to talk about?” You ask while raising up, your left hand coming up to cover your eyes from the beaming sun as you watch your mom begin to walk out of your door. “Come downstairs and you’ll find out.” Is the only thing she says, causing another groan to fall from your lips before you hear the door slam shut, making you stand and walk out your bedroom and straight to the washroom.

You quickly brush your teeth and wash your face before you hop in the shower, the feeling of the warm water hitting your cool body had a please sigh slipping through your lips as you quickly washed up and hopped out.

You made your way into your room and quickly put on your under garments before lotioning your body up, the scent of coconut in the air as you walked over to your window with your towel wrapped around your body just in time to see your beautiful neighbor.

Just a few yards away from you, you saw Mr. Hemmings just getting out of the shower also, his body glistening with water as a white towel was loosely wrapped around his hips. His once blond hair now resting dark amongst his forehead, he brings his hand up and brushes it out of his face, making his body look so lean and slender.

A satisfied moan slipped from your lips as you watch Mr. Hemmings continue to paste around his room, continuously looking around for something that he lost. You watch as his body begins to walk towards the window that reflects yours, his arms reaching out and pulling open a drawer that is conjoined to his desk, his arm moving around like he is searching for the item before pausing and looking up towards you.

A squeal immediately slips from your mouth as you watch Mr. Hemmings lips tug into a smirk before dropping into a wink, your fingers quickly tugging back from the shutters and stepping away from them, your body turning around and walking to your closet to get decent clothes so you could go downstairs presentable.

It was a lie if you ever told yourself that you didn’t find Mr. Hemmings so remarkably hot; he has such an amazing body, he was smart due to him being a accountant, great with his daughter, and he has such a playful personality.

You remember the first time when he introduced himself to you, his charming smile set along his beautiful face as his strawberry blond hair was falling over his forehead in loose ringlets as a heavy brown box was shifting around in his hand when he met you, his daughter, Jocelyn, was running around and blowing bubbles on the lawn.

You knew from there you were going to be ruined even though he barley talked to you. Just a simple, ‘Hello my name is Mr. Hemmings and I’ll be your next door neighbor, and that little girl right over there is my daughter, Jocelyn,’ left with butterflies in your stomach.

“So what’s up?” You say while rising one of your freshly plucked eyebrows up on your forehead as your mother places a warm plate‒bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast‒out in front of you with a fork before walking towards the fridge.

“So you know Mr. Hemmings?” Your mom says while tugging open the fridge and pulling out a cartoon of orange juice. You nod, making her carry on. “He needs you to babysit Jocelyn… He has to go to an important business meeting.” She says while taking a tall glass out of the cabinet and pouring you a glass before setting it in front of you.

“Really!” You say while raising your eyebrows, a hint of excitement in your voice knowing that Mr. Hemmings asked about you and that you also get to babysit Jocelyn for the night.

“Yup, I told him you would do it, I know how much you love Jocelyn.” Your mom says while turning back around and placing the orange juice back into the fridge before walking towards you and leaning against the counter of the island that you’re eating at.

“I do love Jocelyn.” You state while taking a bite of your eggs.

And you really did love Jocelyn, you and her always hanged out together right after school because Mr. Hemmings couldn’t pick her up so early because of work, but that didn’t bother you because Jocelyn was very easy-going and nice, her personality very mature at such a young age but also energetic. You were actually surprise how quickly she understood you when you said that you needed to finish your homework first before playing with her, remembering a bunch of times were the kids that you use to babysit after school would just constantly annoy the living hell out of you just so you could stop doing your homework, but Jocelyn understood. It surprised you on how long it took Mr. Hemmings to actually allow you to babysit her at night.

“And she loves you back. So now hurry up and finish your breakfast, I want you to clean up your room while I’ll be looking for some flowers for the front, it needs to look pretty.” Your mom says while fluttering her eye lashes, a snort immediately trailing from your throat as you roll your eyes.

“Hey now, leave me alone and finish up.” Your mom says before grabbing her purse from right next to you and pressing a kiss to your head, a sigh of comfort slipping from your nose. “Love you.” Your mom calls from down the hallway as you hear the usual sound of her heels clicking together on the tile floor before the alarm system sounding off when she opens the door.

“Love you too!” You shout before you hear the door shut, you just sit in your chair and slurp on your orange juice.

With your charger and headphones in your hand, you walked up the concrete drive of the Hemmings home. Your legs bringing you swiftly to the army green door with decorative designs in the window that you’ve grown accustomed to, you bring your index finger to the familiar yellow door bell and press on it.

“Y/N! Thanks again for doing this for me, it’s greatly appreciated!” Mr. Hemmings says once he opens the door, not even saying hello first, which causes you to feel your cheeks begin to heat up.

“Yeah no problem Mr. Hemmings, you know it isn’t a bother,” You say while smiling, your fingers beginning to slip into the loops of your head phones before you hear a squeal of excitement being heard from down the hall, your smile expanding.

“Fruit Loop!” You hear Jocelyn scream before she is pushing between Mr. Hemmings legs and running into yours. Her small arms wrapping around your legs as you laugh before bending down and hugging her.

“JoJo! How has it been you bugger?” You say while gently tickling her sides, a giggle falling from her lips before she reaches over and wraps her arms around your neck, a hum of surprise falling from your lips before you wrap your arms around her again.

“It’s been too long Y/N! Can we watch a movie and eat popcorn!” Jocelyn exclaims, pulling her face away from your neck and smiling at you with her eyes filled with excitement.

“Why not, go pick out the movie and I’ll be there in a bit.” You say as you watch Jocelyn nod her head in agreement before scurrying away to find a movie. Your legs rising up as you look back at Mr. Hemmings who has a smile on his face as his eyes look at you with so much happiness.

“You’re so great with her.” He says while smiling his charming smile, causing you to feel heat rise back onto your cheeks.

“Thanks, it just comes naturally.” You say while laughing lightly, Mr. Hemmings joins in. His eyes trailing over your features slowly which causes you to quiet down and look around the porch that you’ve grown familiar to.

“Oh um, sorry, dozing off a bit. But make sure to feed Jocelyn there is a twenty on the kitchen counter so you can order pizza, buy yourself a pop because you deserve it, and make sure you put her to bed by nine the latest.” Mr. Hemmings says, making you nod at each word he is saying as you watch him reach into his back pocket and pull out his wallet.

“And here’s for…. basically everything really.” He says, placing two hundred dollar bills in your palm, causing your jaw to drop before you look up at him.

“I-It shouldn’t cost this much.” You stutter while taking a step towards him, wanting to give back the money.

“You’ve watch my daughter since September Y/N, it’s the least I can do.” Mr. Hemmings says while smiling down at you, causing everything in you not to surge forward and lock your lips with his, but you quickly shy back and look down at the ground.

“Listen Y/N I‒” But Mr. Hemmings words soon get cut off with the familiar sound of his phone ringing, your head popping up when you hear a annoyed sigh fall from his lips before you watch him answer the phone.

“I’m coming now. Yeah I’m just running behind, talking with the babysitter.” He says while stepping out of the house and down the porch, the sound of his keys clicking around in his pocket as he stuffs his hand in there to grab them.

“Jesus Christ I’ll be there soon.” Mr. Hemmings voice booms into the phone, the sound of anger and frustration obvious in his tone as he unlocks his car and opens the door. Thank god you hear Jocelyn’s feet pad against the wooden flooring and meet you at the door with the DVD Inside Out glued to her chest.

“Great movie to pick, never watched this before.” You say while smiling down at her, trying to push her back into the door way so she doesn’t see her dad all angry and flustered but that doesn’t even help.

“Bye daddy! I love you!” Jocelyn screams while waving her hand at her dad as he gets into his car, his hand coming out of the rolled down window and waving back at her.

“Love you too baby, have fun.” He calls back with his phone still pressed to his ear as he begins to pull out of the drive way.

“Would you rather have pizza or popcorn?” You say when turning away from the sun at the stop sign all the way down the street and looking down at Jocelyn as her dirty blond head of hair looks back up at you with her ocean blue coloured eyes.

“Why not both,” She says smiling before turning around and running back into the leaving room, causing a smile to spread on your lips once again as you step into the house and chuck off your shoes.

“Yeah, why not both.”

It was twelve o’clock and Jocelyn was upstairs bathed clean and now tucked into her bed. You couldn’t just leave a four year old to stay in an empty house so you stayed downstairs and decided to catch up on Stranger Things, which you weren’t really paying attention to, instead you were scrolling through Instagram and messaging your friends.

The sound of the front door opening had you leaning your back off of the couch and clicking your phone off, you heard a muffle groan before you caught sight of black jeans stepping into the living room.

Mr. Hemmings stood in the doorway, your eyes ran over the expense of what he was wearing which was a deep red dress shirt with a pair of black skinny jeans. You watch a smile tug on the ends of his lips as he steps deeper into the living room before plopping down on the seat next to you, the scent of his cologne clouding your senses.

“So how was your night?” Luke says, hands spreading along the back of the couch as his eyes flicker between the TV show and you. A smile spreads on your lips as you just give Mr. Hemmings a once over before speaking.

“It was fun, Jocelyn and I watched a movie, painted our nails, and then she took a bath and headed to bed.” You inform him, the smile on your lips getting wider as you remember painting Jocelyn’s nails a pretty lilac colour.

“Cute, I’m glad you two had fun, better night then what I had…” Mr. Hemmings said while taking his left hand off of the couch and brushing it though his unstyled hair, a sigh falling from his lips as his eyes tear away to look amongst the table in front of him.

“Oh yeah, it must be incredibly boring being in meetings, especially so late at night,” You say while laughing, Mr. Hemmings laughs also while turning his head towards you. His eyes, once again, taking in your physique as you stare back at him. Instead, this time you don’t dare to shy away from his alluring stare, you just look back at him with your eyebrows raised.

“Is there something on me Mr. Hemmings?” You question very teasingly, your eyes gazing down towards your tank top and shorts, eyes roaming amongst your front to find if you had crumbs anywhere on you.

“Hey, call me Luke, and no nothing, just… admiring.” Luke says, his lips tugging into a smirk as you flick your eyes towards him. You shake your head a bit before standing and stretching out your limbs while a small moan escapes your lips.

“I should be heading home now, you’re here… Luke,” You say, causing Luke to laugh before shaking his head. His hand trailing out of his hair and resting at his chin as he stares at you.

“No stay and finish your show, it would be a shame to have to watch it again,” Luke insists, and Luke isn’t wrong, you nod your head slightly before plopping down on the couch.

“So what did you do in your meeting?” You ask, eyes still focus on the show in front of you.

“Oh it wasn’t a business meeting…” Luke sighs, which makes you turn your gaze away from the show.

“What was it then?” You mutter, only making Luke sigh again while running his hand through his hair again.

“I had to meet up with Jocelyn’s mom to talk about having shared custody with her, which I don’t want her having since she’s an unfit mother, hell she doesn’t even have a proper place to live and she wants to take care of Jocelyn over the weekend.” Luke ranted, eyes rolling before they close for moment.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking to you about this,” Luke says, that only makes you shake your head while leaning towards Luke and place your hand on his shoulder while rubbing him gently.

“It’s fine Luke, I can tell that you haven’t been able to get your frustration out of you from how angry you speak, continue if you want to, I’m listening.” You state, that makes Luke send you a small smile before continuing to speak about Jocelyn’s mother.

He begins to explain to you about how Jocelyn’s mother did not even want her in the first place, stating how he had to convince her for the longest time. Then he tells you about her neglecting the exact replica of him, saying she would barley feed her, leave her crying in her crib until he got home from work, and physically abuse her for no reason.

He informs you about how his ex girlfriend now decides to pop up and demand some custody over her which is why he is so worked up. He had to take her daughter away from an unfit mother who now demands to see her again when she didn’t even want the spawn of her and boyfriend ever.

Anyone in Luke’s position should be angry, hell, even yourself was angry. Luke and Jocelyn should not be going through with this type of crap in their life since they are so happy just being close together as a small family.

You were next to Luke in an instant, hand rubbing his shoulder while the other on his thigh. His head was placed in the crook of your neck as his left hand continued to rake through his hair, he had his bottom lip tucked in between his teeth while his foot bounced around on the floor underneath the both of you.

“Ugh, that felt so good to get out… it’s just been building up inside of me for so long,” He sighs. “So much built up emotion, you know.”

“Who wouldn’t? But it’s good that you got it out, now you can maybe relax a little bit…” You remark, voice cheery and caring as you continue to rub soothing circles on his muscular thighs.

“Yeah, that did help me relax a little bit. Maybe I could go to the gym or have a pamper night,” Luke chuckles, making you laugh also.

Your eyes run over the exhausted figure nestled in your body, his hair messy along his forehead, lips red and bitten into, three buttons of his burgundy button up undone, and a tired looking crease in the middle of his eyebrows.

“A pamper night does seem nice,” You joked while inching the hand that is on Luke’s thigh closer and closer to his crotch, “But you know what else is very nice and relaxing?” You question, only making Luke turn his head towards you, his navy blue eyes filled with curiosity until you brush your hand against Luke’s cock.

“A good fuck,” You smirked, the palm of your hand digging into his crotch as you looked at him with devious eyes.

A groan slipped out of Luke’s lips as he bucked his hips up into your hand, his teeth biting down into his lips as looked at you with surprise but also attraction.

“You wouldn’t mind it at all right?” You inquire, your eyebrow rising as you shuffle around to get on your knees, your eyes still staring at Luke daringly and hand still palming his clothed and now semi-hard cock.

Luke shakes his head while tilting it back, a look of pleasure spreading on his facial features as he feels your finger tips run over his belt buckle. The smug smirk is still tugging at the ends of your lips as you lean into his neck that releases the odor of his sexy smelling cologne. You let your tongue slip out of your mouth and lick the expense of his neck before letting the tip of your tongue flick the lobe of his ear to then soon dangle before you tug away and begin to press kisses and let your tongue slide up his sweet smelling skin.

“Good because you need to relax…” You whisper, your hot breath skimming down his wet neck.

Your hand that was rubbing against Luke’s shoulder slides down his chest and to his pants, joining your other hand. Now with both limbs aside you begin to unbuckle his belt, fingers letting the leather strap slide through the heavy metal before your dainty hands unbutton his pants and slide down the zipper, your hands slipping into Luke’s boxer to tug his cock out of his trousers.

Pulling away from Luke’s neck you shuffle back a bit and lean your head towards his member. You let your tongue slip out of your mouth first to run along the slit in his cock, a pleasurable sigh escapes his swollen bitten lips as you continue to kitten lick the deep but small slit in his cock.

But you don’t waste any time, soon enough you’re letting your tongue circle around the crown on his shaft, the perimeter of his head causing you to feel an ache in your tongue since how thick and wide it is. So when you feel the slight stretch of your tongue become to overbearing you flick your tongue against the slit once more before wrapping your lips around his head, your lips sucking him into your mouth as a moan of surprise slips through your lips when you taste a bit of pre-cum drip onto your tongue.

You suppress the need to tease and wait any longer, you let Luke’s thick hard member glide down your throat with ease as you take your free hand and place it at the base of his cock, your lips sucking Luke deeper and deeper into your mouth as your tongue lies on the underside of your mouth and feels every vein protruding and beating with pleasure.

It surprises you when you feel a huge hand skim down your back and dip into your shorts, a moan of satisfaction escapes your throat and vibrates against Luke’s cock when you feel one of his fingers glide against your lips, the feeling so soft and gentle that it has you begin to grow wet between your legs.

That doesn’t stop you from continuing to swallow Luke down your throat though, the taste of his come and himself alone has you only growing wet more and sinking your lips deeper on his cock. Your hand that was continuously tugging at the base of Luke’s cock slips away from the skin due to your mouth covering the space and slides to his twin globes that you rub in the palm of your hand.

As Luke continued to run his finger up and down your now soaking wet slit the sounds that he made only made your heart pound in your chest. You’ve wanted to hear Mr. Hemmings moans, groans, and whimpers since you saw him shirtless the day after him moving in. It has been buried deep in your mine for so long and now that you finally get the chance to hear it along with yourself doing so, you were on cloud nine right now.

For a moment you let your lips pop off of his thick shaft, his member glistening in your salvia, your tongue slips out of your mouth and drags against the red angry protruding vein nestled in the underside of his cock.

Your spit dribbles down your hand and slides onto his two spheres, but you don’t care, you continue to lick all around Luke’s member and slurp his salvia soaked coat self into your mouth, your tongue absolutely loving the taste of him wet and dripping on your tongue.

Your tongue slips back into your mouth now as you lean deeper and suck Luke’s twin globes into your mouth, your tongue welcoming the neglected bits until your wet muscle is circling around the globe and sucking on it with your lips, even this part of him so much sweeter and saltier than ever.

And just as soon as your lips wrapped around the other sphere your mouth tugs away from it and a whimper climbs out of your mouth, Luke slid his finger into your now soaked core, his finger repeatedly thrusting into you as you rock against it. With your mouth distracted by Luke, you let your hand continue to tug him off while your other hand cradles and rubs his globes in your hand.

“Fuck that feels so good Mr. Hemmings,” You moan, the name spilling out of your mouth without thought as you swivel your hips against the length of his finger while your eyes are glued shut.

“You like that don’t you? You feel so tight also,” Luke husks, his free hand pushing your falling hair to the side as he watches your facial expression change with every thrust of his finger that continues to sink deeper and deeper into your heat.

“Holy shit!” You exclaim when you feel Luke curl his finger in you.

You’re completely caught off guard with the fact that Luke is making you feel so good with just one finger, normally it would at least take two fingers to have your toes curling the way they do now. You don’t know if it’s the angle that you’re sitting in or how long Luke’s finger, either one of it has your ears ringing and mind going numb.

“Sir, can you please fuck me,” You moan, your grip around Luke tightening.

“Shit did you just call me sir?” Luke mutters, voice so low and throaty that it has your thighs coming together with the rippling desire.

“Please fuck me, please,” You cry, eyes peeling open and staring into Luke’s, who lets a groan tear through his lips as he slips his finger out and places it in front of your lips, you don’t waste any time when sucking the glistening finger into your mouth, your juices spilling on your tongue that has you moaning and begging Luke for his cock with your eyes.

“You want my cock baby,” Luke whispers, face coming near you. His pupils blown wide as his lips are glistening wet as he tugs his fingers out of your mouth.

“Yes I want your cock, I can I have your cock, please, pretty please” You beg, eyes filling with desperation as you lick your lips.

“Strip for me baby since you want me so bad,” Luke says, and without a second thought you pull your tank top over your head, chucking your bra aside, next your shorts and panties sliding down your legs and hitting the floor. Your eyes peer up at Luke when you’re completely bare.

“Fuck you have such an amazing body,” He says, large hand tearing away from his side and sliding down your hip, a moan slipping from your lips while you nod your head filled with complete submission.

It catches you off guard when Luke’s demeanor changes due to when he shoves your body back against the couch, your head hitting against the couch cushion as he tugs you down a bit by your legs.

You watch as Luke unbuttons the rest of his button down before grasping himself in his hand and running it over your dripping heat. The head of his cock continuing to rub against your pleasurable bud, making your head lean back and dig into the pillow.

“You like that?” Luke grunted, eyes never tearing away from your body to look at your pleasure filled face.

You didn’t even have a chance to answer Luke because right after his question he’s thrusting into you, slow and deep that your eyes roll back and your hands grip the couch cushions beneath you.

The feel of Luke spreading you wide while sinking into you so deep that it has your toes curling and your back bending into the air. A heavenly moan trails out of your mouth as you just feel him glide into you so easily without any effort, your walls were expanding so gracefully with just the right amount of pain that it caused your mind to blacken for a second.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” Luke grunts, his head tossing back as his hand that was placed on your hip slides up and grips your breast roughly in his hand.

It never seems to stop either, the feeling of him stretching you out in the most blissful way possible. With just the right amount of pain and the fantastic feeling of having Luke’s thick member dive into you deliciously has you grinning from ear to ear.

Your eyes blink open and you let a heavy sigh slip through your lips, your eyes looking up at the most beautiful sight before you.

Luke towering over you with his maroon button up open and revealing his toned stomach, his pants peeled down his thighs as his thick member dives into you so slowly but beautifully. His facial features overcome by a pleasurable look; pupils blown wide, thin eyebrows come together to make a crease in his forehead, bitten lips hanging open, as a scarlet red is swiped over his cheeks while his jaw is hanging open.

“You’re so deep in me,” You whimper, legs wrapping around his waist causing him to push forward and sink even deeper and deeper into you that it causes his hips to finally meet yours.

The both of you groaning in unison; yourself at the fact that Luke is hitting your g-spot directly, while Luke groans at how tight you are wrapped around him. Luke pulls his hip back until only the head of his cock is breach only in you until he is thrusting back, rough and hard.

And it continues like that, his hard thrusts meeting your hips each time as he rocks into your core at a fantastic paste. With each movement it has a wet hot obscene squelch emitting from your pussy as the sound of his balls slapping against your backside.

“Fuck it feels like your pussy is under water,” Luke moans, his hand tearing away from his side to spread your legs even wider.

You don’t even have the time to giggle or smile at the comment; instead a moan slips out of your lips when Luke continues to rock into your g-spot with each thrust of his hips.

“Sir…” You moan out, hand tearing away from the couch cushion and slipping onto his thigh as you feel the rapid paste that he’s going at.

“Keep calling me that baby,” Luke grunts, eyes locking with yours and staring at you deeply with sensuality and dominance.

“Sir you’re so deep, fuck,” You whine, eyes begging for more of the feeling that Luke is sending up your core and straight to your mind.

“Yeah I’m deep, deep in your tight went cunt, right,” Luke says, voice so deep and just dripping in sex that it has you keening of need in your throat.

“You like me spreading you nice and wide,” Luke stated, hand tearing away from your breast and gliding to your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat tightly.

“Please don’t stop sir,” You beg as you feel your ears begin to tingle and your stomach chum with the perfect feeling ever.

“You gonna come baby, gonna come on my thick cock spreading you nice and wide?” Luke grunts, his thick self delving into your g-spot so harshly that it has your legs shaking and mouth hanging open as you nod your head.

The pleasure only increases when Luke drops your thigh and begins to toy with your clit with his thumb and index finger. Now your mouth is stretched wide and gasps of air escapes your throat, your eyes staring into his sapphire ones so deeply as you try to control the little bit of self control you have left.

“I don’t think you should come yet though… I want you to beg me,” Luke smirks, now he has sweat cascading down the side of his forehead as his hand continues to tighten around your neck.

“Please sir, let me come, please, please, please…” You rasp, voice wavering with the constant grasp on your throat and the barreling feeling in your abdomen.

“I don’t think you should; have you’ve been good to me? Huh, have you been a good girl?” Luke says, head cocking to the side and eyebrows propped up on his forehead as you just continuously nod your head up and down.

“Yes I’ve been a good girl, been such a good girl. Please can I come? Pretty please?” You weep voice scratchy and raw that it has Luke groaning before he nods his head.

“Yeah baby, come, come on my cock,” Luke grunts, head dipping down and watch as your legs continuously twitch as you release all over Luke’s cock. A high pitched sound emitting out of your throat as the feeling that overcomes you just mind numbing.

And with the tight grasp of yourself wrapped around Luke’s cock it was hard for him to barley move from the tight grasp, so when he lets a delicious whimper slip out of his mouth along with his hot come sinking into you, you couldn’t help but let out moan.

When you both calmed down he loosened the grip that he had on your neck and slipped out of your dripping heat. A whine escaping your throat when the once thick member is now welcomed with air, with your eyes barley open but your body on over drive you lean up on your knees and begin to press kisses along Luke’s neck, sucking love bites up and down the expense of it.

“Jesus Y/N,” Luke mutters as you feel his hand rub up and down your neck gently, causing you to purr under the touch and dig your head deeper into his neck.

But then all of a sudden Luke just halted; his breathing slowed, fingers stopped touching you, a gasp escaped him before he pulled away from your embrace. A look of complete shock running over his features as his one bright face pales.

“W-We should have never done this… I don’t know what came over me…” Luke whispers, eyes raking over your naked frame before he is standing and putting himself together, eyes looking wild and scared as you just stare at him in question.

“Come on Luke, I know you liked it, its okay cause’ I liked it too.” You state while leaning over and running your hand down his arm, and for a moment Luke looks comfortable before he shakes it off and stares at you with concern before shaking his head.

“No this should have never happened… I-I need to get to bed, I just need to go…” Luke breathes before rushing himself out of the living room.

And with that you slipped back on your clothes, shut off the TV and headed back home. You didn’t try and pressure Luke into talking to you because you know it would have been hell, but shit. You couldn’t help the smile on your face, you finally got the courage to sleep with the man that you’ve been adoring for months and now you just need to plan away to do it again.

So did you like it? feedback would be greatly appreciated!

Sorry for any spelling mistakes!

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ryukoishida · 7 years

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PARS 2017 | Day 6: Spring Festival | In which Alfreed and Layla become friends at a figure skating competition.

Title: Our Own Rhythmnals Day/Prompt: Day 6 – Spring Festival Author: ryukoishida Summary: Alfreed and Layla met and became friends at Coupe du Printemps after Layla comforted the heartbroken skater, who was at a very bad place in her life at the time. Three years later, they reunite in the same competition as senior skaters, but Layla is distancing herself, and Alfreed wants to know why. [Figure Skating AU] Rating: T Warning: N/A A/N: Title from Luke Lalonde’s “Grand”. Alfreed’s SP music is Eendo’s “Eshgh e Aasemaani”. Layla’s SP music is Ólafur Arnalds’ “33:26”. Links to music are embedded into the text of the fic for your convenience. Holy… okay, so this is my first time writing F/F and I hope I did them justice. If you have no idea who Layla is, there’s a bit of information about her here and here. Also, I took the theme a bit liberally; the name of the competition is Spring Cup, so… spring skating festival it is!

“Alfreed Zottī, with a score of…”

Alfreed doesn’t need to hear the announcement to know that she has one of the lowest scores among the twenty-four junior female skaters present at the Coupe du Printemps.

She squeezes her eyes close, two hands crushing the fabric of her jacket that she hasn’t even bothered to put on after she gets off the ice; her knees still throbbing from the falls as she tries not to let frustrated tears fall. Colours run together and blur into a mirage of shapeless, meaningless images.

A few audience members applaud after the score has been announced, but with the arena only about one-thirds full — not surprising since junior events are never at the center of attention —the half-hearted applause sounds even worst, echoing pathetically and then fading until there’s not a trace of it left as if it was all in her imagination.

She pulls herself up from the bench, and accompanied by her coach, who hasn’t really said anything yet other than a few attempted words of comfort, the red-haired skater stalks down the aisle where staff, other skaters, and coaches are still idling about, and she doesn’t stop until she reaches the safe privacy of the changing room and locks herself inside a washroom stall.

Alfreed knocks her forehead against the metallic door, the cool sensation at least a nice relief for her heated skin after that disaster of a short program, and at the thought of that, her mind of course decides to focus on nothing but the toppled double axel that started the chain of calamity that followed: the triple Loop she stepped out prematurely, the under-rotated jump combo, and the less-than-perfect step sequence when she had lost all momentum and spun out of control.

A teardrop escapes and rolls down her cheek, and before she knows it, she’s sobbing uncontrollably, chest heaving like she can’t catch her breath and fists striking uselessly against the door as tears and snot run down her face in a mess.

She hates herself for being so weak — not just in terms of her physical elements in figure skating, because she’s always believed that she can improve through incessant practice and training, but her emotional state as well, that she had been so easily swayed by a single mistake that it’d led her down into an unending spiral of self-doubt, resulting in such a devastating and disappointing score in an ISU skating competition, even if it was one of the smaller-scale ones.

If only she can be as strong as her brother, she muses, a sense of self-deprecation settles over her like a heavy blanket that’s impossible to shake away. Despite the recent death of their father, Merlane continues to train ceaselessly back at their home rink — perhaps even more so than before, as if he has something to prove.

Alfreed wipes her tear-streaked face furiously — make-up and costume be damned, she can always wash up her face and have the clothes dry-cleaned later — and that’s when she hears the door to the changing room swings open with a squeak, followed by scattered footsteps and snippets of conversations, most likely other skaters who are looking for a refuge for some gossip.

She claps a hand over her mouth and tries to stay as quiet as possible.

“Who do you think will take gold this time?” someone with a nasally arrogant voice asks and adds, “That Kassem girl was really good, but I’ve never even heard of her until this season. Where did she pop out from?”

“I heard she’s just switched coaches; she’s apparently training under Ilterish Turan now.”

Another girl gasps, “No way! The devil incarnate — that Ilterish Turan?”

“Call him what you want, but most of the skaters trained under him ended up sweeping the medals at all the big competitions.”

“Speaking of, how old is she anyway? She looks like she could be in the senior division.”

“I think she’s just freakishly tall for her age,” the first girl replies with an amused snort, and everyone else laughs.

And that is the major reason why Alfreed always finds herself unable to befriend anyone around her own age range in the figure skating field. She isn’t the friendliest person to hang around with in the first place — with her unrefined, loud-mouthed nature that others never expect from a figure skater and a raw, straight-forward kind of honesty that always rubs people the wrong way — but she despises those who talk shit behind people’s backs even more.

Whoever they’re referring to — Alfreed racks her brain trying to remember a skater named Kassem but fails to come up with anything — she wishes she can stomp out of the washroom stall at that very moment and defend the stranger, even if said stranger isn’t around to witness it. That’s not the point, after all, and nobody deserves to be the target of someone’s joke like this, especially when it’s obviously so ill-intended and tasteless.

Her hand is already resting on the lock, ready to kick open the door and reveal her presence, but then someone else is talking again.

‘God, how long are they planning to stay here?’ Alfreed rolls her eyes, but freezes when she hears her own name.

“And from all the things I’ve heard about Alfreed Zottī, I would’ve thought she’d be a more impressive skater, but wow, was her SP a disaster or what? Those jumps and that posture were absolutely awful! How did she even manage to remain at the top twenty?”

“My coach told me that her father just passed away, so maybe we shouldn’t be too hard on her,” another girl mentions in a softer voice, but the first speaker only sniffs indignantly.

“And her father was her coach, if I remember correctly. That would explain why her performances have been so inconsistent lately.”

“All the more reason she shouldn’t slack off, then,” the first girl only says, her tone final, signifying the end of the discussion.

It’s at this point that Alfreed finds herself shuddering in fury, fingers curling into fists and nails digging into the tender skin of her palms as her eyes flare up in a dangerous crimson: it’s fine that they’re talking about all the flaws in her skating, and it’s true that she’d been letting her emotions get the better of her for the past few weeks since her father — a single-parent who brought her and her brother up and trained them since they were young, a harsh and unreasonable man at times, certainly, but everything he said and did was for the benefit of his children — has died from an unfortunate accident. Yet to discredit all the time and effort she’s poured into training in such an offhanded manner when this girl doesn’t even know her is crossing the line, and Alfreed is about to give these clueless girls a piece of her mind.

“Who did you say is slacking off?” a new voice — light and sweet like the first trace of spring — joins in the conversation, and for a few seconds, everyone in the changing room remains uncomfortably quiet, the air stiff and dense and no one dares to make the first move.

“W-what’s it to you?” one of the girls says, a little too loud, like an entrapped prey trying to make itself bigger and more menacing than it truly is.

“Nothing,” the newcomer pauses, and Alfreed presses her ear against the door as if it’d help her hear better, “But maybe you should consider being nicer human beings and stop talking crap behind people’s backs? The way you girls are behaving — it’s rather childish, don’t you think?”

“Just because you’re in first place after the SP doesn’t make you the boss of us, you freak,” one of them, presumably the leader of the trio, snaps.

The newcomer ignores the insult and responds with the kind of nonchalance that Alfreed can only dream to achieve, “Oh? I think the medal speaks otherwise.”

“There’s still the free skate tomorrow,” the girl reminds her, snide sneering obvious in her taunt, “I wouldn’t be so certain about that gold medal if I were you, Kassem. Come on, girls, let’s get out of here.”

The rushed footsteps fade, and the door swings back to place with the familiar squeak. Alfreed feels herself releasing a breath she hasn’t realized she’s been holding.

The hesitant rapping against the door of her stall comes unexpected, and causes Alfreed to jump back a little, a hand on her chest, her heart still beating a little too fast from the conversation she’s been accidentally eavesdropping.

“Hey, you okay in there? You’re not stuck in the toilet, are you? Should I get some help?”

It’s the girl who’s kicked the gossipers out of the changing room — ‘Kassem, wasn’t it?’ Alfreed recalls — her heroine, to be honest, though she’ll never admit such an embarrassing thing to a stranger she’s barely met.

“No! I-I’m fine, thanks.”

Without making it too obvious, she tries to wipe off as much of the dried tear marks and straighten up her costume as best as she can, and with a twist of the lock, she pulls the door open and steps out of the cramped stall, murmuring with a hint of blush on her cheeks that she’s hoping the make-up will at least partly cover, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to, but I heard the whole thing… Thanks again for, well…”

She’s aware that she’s rambling a mile a minute, and the more nervous she feels, the worst her running mouth gets. It’s a bad habit Alfreed still hasn’t been able to get rid of.

“You’re Alfreed Zottī, aren’t you?” the sweet voice rings clear and silvery, and it’s filled with pleasant surprise that makes the other skater blink in confusion.

Alfreed finally has the sense to look up, and she internally scolds herself for not remembering the girl standing before her, a bright grin lighting up the soft green of her eyes and short, dark curls braided on one side of her head while stray locks frame her cheeks: Layla Kassem, a young skater with the strength and elegance of a lioness, skills that most skaters her age can only dream of, and a burning passion for the sport that simmers and explodes in her programs and in the way she moves on the ice.

She was in the group before Alfreed’s, but she must have been too busy worrying about her own performance and warm-up to pay attention to the other skaters at the time.

Later that evening, when she’s re-watching that day’s event on the laptop she’s brought along with her, Alfreed will realize that Layla — the thirteen-year-old girl with the bright, fervent eyes and the enthusiasm and skills to match — is one of the few junior female skaters who was crazy enough to attempt the triple Axel, and somehow managed to land it, even if she had to put a hand on the ice to stop herself from completely falling out of the jump.

“How did you know?” Alfreed asks, eyes widening comically.

“Your beautiful red hair is pretty unforgettable,” Layla replies as she glances admiringly at Alfreed with a small but genuine smile, which only makes the other girl blush even harder than before.

“Oh, you mean I didn’t leave enough of an impression when I flunked that double Axel?” Alfreed chuckles, rubbing the back of her neck, abashed at the attention she’s getting from the other skater.

“Come on, we all had our bad days. Your musical interpretation and transitions were nearly flawless, and I’m not just saying that to make you feel better, I promise,” Layla says.

“You really think so?” Alfreed looks up to meet Layla’s steady gaze with hesitant, cerise irises, teeth worrying at her lower lip.

“Don’t judge too harshly of yourself,” she gives the red-headed skater a sympathetic smile — nothing demeaning, just a sincere gesture to express her concern and an invitation to talk more should Alfreed wishes to do so. The dark-haired skater offers her hand with a tilt of her head, “Layla Kassem. Want to be friends?”

“Absolutely!” she clasps Layla’s hand in hers in an enthusiastic handshake, “I’m Alfreed Zottī, but uh… I guess you already knew that.” Her cheeks are tinted pink again, and Alfreed suspects that this is going to become something of a recurrent theme, but Layla merely laughs, the sound gentle and earnest, and they let go of each other’s hand, fingertips tingling with warmth that seeps deeper than skin and into their bones.

“Want to get out of here and grab a coffee?” Layla asks as she turns around and heads to her locker.

Alfreed follows suit.

“Hot cocoa?” Alfreed wrinkles her nose in disgust at the unpleasant bitter drink and suggests instead.

“Sure! Anything to get away from my coach just for a little while,” Layla whispers conspiringly under her breath.

“The rumors are true then? You’re training under the devil incarnate?”

“Is that the nickname Coach Ilterish goes by around here?” Layla can’t help but laugh, though she definitely wouldn’t have dared if the man were actually present. “Sure, he’s tough and strict with his students, and his ballet classes are brutal; plus, I think he’s secretly a robot or something because I’ve never seen that man cracked a smile, ever.”

Layla pauses for a moment as she puts her sweater on and continues after contemplating her next words, “but he’d taught a lot of top skaters for the past decade and I think I can learn a lot more with him guiding me.”

“That’s amazing — you’re amazing, Layla,” Alfreed has already changed out of her costume and into a set of sweatpants and windbreaker with matching orange and white accents; the clothes are half a size too big on her slight frame, so the sleeves are covering most of her hands, revealing only the tips of her fingers. She pokes her head around the corner of a wall of lockers to check and see if Layla is done yet, and finds that the other girl is mostly dressed except for her shoes.

Similar to herself, Layla’s feet are covered in welts and bruises, and healing wounds protected by bandages. The dark-haired skater quickly pulls on her socks and slips on a pair of sneakers, head ducked to hide the faint blush on her cheeks after Alfreed has complimented her out of the blue.

“H-how do you mean?”

“You must be around the same age as me, right?” She plops down beside the other girl and drops her sports bag by her feet. “Fifteen? Sixteen?”

Layla zips her windbreaker all the way up in a weak attempt to hide the heat on her face. “I’m thirteen, actually.” She curls in on herself as if she wants to make herself appear smaller, and Alfreed has to wonder why, though she does find the gesture rather endearing.

“What? Seriously? Wow, you’re two years younger than me and you’ve already got your future all planned out,” Alfreed sighs in awe as she stretches her arms upward and leans back against her hands braced against the bench.

“I mean… I just know that I’ll always want figure skating to be a big part of my life,” Layla replies sheepishly. “Don’t you?”

“That’d be ideal, yeah, but when you get to a certain age, you just realize that there are some things that, no matter how much you want it, no matter how much time and effort you spend trying to attain it, it’s simply… impossible,” Alfreed turns and looks over at her new friend, cerise eyes bright but it’s in the way she shrugs her shoulders a bit helplessly and the crooked grin on her lips that doesn’t quite touch the entirety of her face that make Layla want to shuffle closer to offer some sort of consolation, a hug, maybe.

She isn’t sure how to go about this — isn’t sure if the gesture is perhaps too forward of her — so she remains unmoving.

“Look at you, talking like a grandma already,” Layla playfully punches the other girl’s arm instead, before her tone turns somber once more, “it won’t always be like this — what happened on the ice today.”

“I know,” Alfreed smiles faintly at her friend’s words, her head lowered as she stares at her hands. The gratitude is unspoken, but Layla understands as soon as the red-haired skater nudges her shoulder gently against hers, and the serious topic is dropped for the moment.

The day after the Coupe du Printemps, under the lush, green foliage of the woods that surround the Patinoire de Kockelscheuer, Alfreed and Layla stand side-by-side as they look at the venue one last time before they have to board the bus and leave. In the end, Alfreed managed to climb back up to ninth place after completing a near-perfect rendition of her free skate, and Layla proudly took silver, losing only a mere 0.5 points to the gold medalist.

“This April’s Worlds’ will be my last competition as a junior skater,” Alfreed tells her as she leans heavily against the trunk of an alder tree. The thick layers of leaves provide some cover from the rain for them, but Alfreed pulls her hood tighter around her head as the breeze begins to pick up. It’s rare to see the usually boisterous girl conveying such a grim expression, but as soon as the thought of her senior debut enters her thoughts, it’s difficult for her mind to think of anything else.

“Are you excited about your senior debut next season?” Layla asks, her back touching the same tree, their arms almost touching, and even though it’s already March, the climate of southern Luxembourg is still bitingly cold, especially when the chilling wind brings with it occasional precipitation that’s more like viscous mist than actual rainfall.

“Not going to lie, but I’m actually really nervous about this whole thing. The ladies’ singles field is pretty deep and there are so many talented skaters from all over the world. I feel overwhelmed just thinking about it,” her voice softens at the next statement, “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

“You’ll wait for me, right?” Layla pushes herself off from the trunk with a determined grunt and stands before the other skater. She’s almost a head taller than Alfreed, so when she’s standing this close to her, with one hand braced against the tree a few inches away from Alfreed’s ear, her towering stature seems even more alarming and noticeable.

“W-what?” Alfreed is slightly taken aback by their sudden proximity, but she’s tilting her head to meet Layla’s gaze, albeit a bit bashfully.

“I’ll be keeping in touch, obviously,” and Alfreed really likes how confident and matter-of-fact Layla sounds when she announces this, “but we won’t be competing against each other in the same discipline anymore, so until I debut in the senior division, you have to promise to keep skating your best, and in turn, I’ll promise to train hard over the next two years so that when we’re finally competing in the same field, I’ll be able to stand on the podium with you.”

The pale green of her eyes is blazing, and Layla is focusing on nothing else but the girl standing before her. Her goal has been clear from the moment she’s decided to abandon everything, sacrifice and cut off the frivolous ties that threaten to hold her back, to pursue figure skating as her career: she will go down in history to become one of the most notable female skaters of her era and bring pride to her family and country. Now that she’s befriended Alfreed — an older, more experienced skater who shares some of those insecurities that she has never brought up or admitted to anyone else — Layla wishes nothing more than to have Alfreed be part of this journey, this transformation, her life.

Caught up in her own thoughts, Layla hasn’t even noticed that Alfreed, standing on her tiptoe, is cradling her flushed, wind-chaffed face between her palms, and she says with a teasing grin, “You don’t sound like a thirteen-year-old at all when you talk like that, you know?”

A small, displeased pout begins to form on the younger skater’s chapped lips, but Alfreed interrupts with a pat on Layla’s head as she ruffles her hair, “Hey, I meant that as a compliment. Now stop frowning before you start getting premature wrinkles and sprouting grey hairs.”

Layla’s cheeks are still uncomfortably warm after Alfreed retrieves her hands, and it definitely doesn’t help that a second later, the red-headed skater has taken her hand into hers without a forethought and starts dragging her towards the bus station across from the arena.

“C’mon, we should head back before our coaches decide to ditch us here.”

In the unknowing mist of spring among the green woods in Luxembourg, they make a promise to meet again on the world stage as equals after two years; however, during that period of time, their exchanges over texts and Skype become fewer and farther in between, mostly with Alfreed being the one to initiate conversations, and even then, she’ll only receive the occasional dissatisfying short replies. This awkward, one-sided game of hide-and-seek continues until about a month right before Layla’s supposedly senior debut at the Finlandia Trophy that season, and that’s about the time when Alfreed completely loses track of her friend.

There have been no messages, no calls — no attempt at any kind of contact at all — and Alfreed is worried, her heart becoming heavier as days of silence turn into weeks, except she has no time to worry about a girl who may not be her friend anymore, but she remembers their promise still, intending to keep it in her heart until the end.

Nothing much about the Patinoire de Kockelscheuer has changed over the three years since she last skated in the venue, except the crowd in the stands seem more enthusiastic, and she even spots a few supportive banners bearing her name.

“Alfreed, are you listening to me?” her coach is saying, his head ducked down to scan the content of his clipboard, “remember to watch your posture during the triple axel.”

She hums to show that she’s listening, and then asks out of nowhere with a straight face, “So, have you reconsidered my marriage proposal?”

It all started out as a joke when someone back in her home rink discovered Alfreed’s childhood crush had been none other than the current favourite star choreographer for many prodigious skaters, Narsus Shahidi. Since the older skaters wouldn’t stop teasing her about it even after she’d clarified that that childish infatuation had long been forgotten ever since she grew out of that phase, Alfreed has learned to just swim with the tide with a smile instead of fighting against it.

These days, only Narsus himself is still embarrassed about the entire fanfare, and Alfreed enjoys making the older man fluster every once in a while.

Alfreed tucks a stray lock of her red hair behind the curve of her ear, batting her eyelashes in an overly-exaggerated keenness that, if the man hasn’t already known her for a long time, he’d have assumed she’s making a horrid attempt at flirting with him.

“Excuse me?” he cocks a well-shaped eyebrow at his student’s question, though his concentration is still fully focused on the clipboard in his hand, the other one scrawling down notes that Alfreed is unable to make out because she’s standing on the other side of the rink board. Also, because his handwriting — even if she’s not viewing it upside-down — is terrible.

“Remember what I said about marrying you when I win five golds this season?” she continues with a wide grin, unperturbed by the dark glower her coach sends her.

“No,” he snaps.

“’No’ as in you don’t remember, or ‘no’ as in you don’t think I can win gold here?” Alfreed remains in good humor, her lips, shimmering with pink gloss that matches the sea-blue gauze and silver trimming of her costume, tucked in a self-assured smirk.

“’No’ as in I refuse to answer this obviously loaded question.”

“You’ll give the poor man an aneurism, Alfreed,” a tall woman with an elegant posture even when she’s just standing, ink-black hair that cascades down her back, and exquisite jade-green eyes that can either convey heartbreak or downright murder appears beside the blond-haired coach who’s still fuming over Alfreed’s teasing.

“Farangis!” Alfreed chirps excitedly, “What are you doing here? Didn’t you say you were going to stay behind and train for Worlds’?”

“I thought it’d be fun to come cheer you on,” Farangis replies with a soft smile.

“Aghriras is stalking you again, isn’t he?” Narsus turns to her with a knowing glance. “Have you considered getting a restraining order? I heard those things are rather effective against stubborn and shameless men who just don’t know when to give up.”

“That seems a bit extreme, don’t you think?” Farangis sounds remarkably calm, as if having her old pair skating partner following her on every social media platform she’s on and obsessively trying to get back in touch with her despite Farangis’ outright refusal to have any more connection to the man who gave up on their partnership after a few consecutive disappointing results is nothing to be afraid of. It amazes Alfreed how the skater, who’s only three years older than her, can deal with all this with such a mature and composed demeanor.

In most people’s opinion — fellow professional figure skaters and audiences alike — Farangis Avesta is better off skating in the singles discipline anyway; her techniques have always been at the top in the pair skating field and her performances and public persona are popular with the judges and fans. To be rid of the weight of a troublesome partner is a blessing, and Farangis bursts into the ladies’ singles scene burning brighter and more dazzling than ever before.

“You’re too nice,” Alfreed pipes up as she balances her chin on her palm.

“And you should be out there doing your warm-up before time runs out,” Narsus scolds.

“Alright already,” Alfreed makes a face and skates away to join the other skaters in her flight.

“How’s she doing?” Farangis asks as she watches the red-haired skater speeds past the other young women in the rink, eyes focusing straight ahead and nothing else.

“Everything should be fine if she can concentrate and not let any unnecessary things distract her from her goal,” Narsus answers, a finger tapping against his bottom lip as he finally drops the clipboard down on one of the available chairs nearby.

“I saw her — the girl that Alfreed mentioned before,” Farangis comments, “she’s in the flight after hers, and it looks like Ilterish is keeping quite a tight leash on his prized skater.”

“Yeah? I wish you wouldn’t bring it up to her because Layla Kassem is trouble and is considered to be one of the aforementioned unnecessary things that Alfreed doesn’t need to bother herself with right now,” Narsus replies coolly.

“She probably already knows,” Farangis speaks again after someone announces the end of the warm-up segment, and they move aside to allow the stunningly-dressed skaters go by, a few who recognize Farangis are waving at her and the woman nods her greeting with a pleasant, polite smile. “She must have seen the entries list, at least. And her skating feels different during the last few days, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, too.”

Narsus remains silent but his pursed lips and the unease in those usually confident, violet eyes tell Farangis all she needs to know.

“Wish Alfreed good luck for me,” Farangis turns around, “I’ll be watching from the audience stands.”

Like so many times before, like the moment before that disastrous short program that had led to the most unlikely encounter three years prior, Alfreed is once again standing in the center of the rink where the Coupe du Printemps takes place, her body poised gracefully in her starting position as all eyes dwell on her.

Her mind is blank except for the one name that refuses to be wiped off, and that’s all right because she is the one person Alfreed wants to skate for.

She’s known since the entries list was published on the event’s official website about a month ago; she’s known that Layla will be here, and she will see her at some point over the course of the competition, surely. But somehow, over the past two days during the sanctioned practice times or even at the drawing for the starting order last evening, she couldn’t find a chance to approach her or even wander close enough to garner her attention.

Ilterish is always with her, it appears, as if he’s her personal bodyguard; Alfreed has to admit he’s doing a damn fine job at keeping everyone else at bay from bothering his protégé.

If she can’t talk to her friend, then the only way Alfreed can get through to her is to skate her heart out, lay it bare for all to witness.

Will Layla be watching?

She doesn’t have time to ponder about that for too long because the staccato notes of the folksy accordion to her short program music have started playing; she unfolds from her frozen pose, the semi-transparent gauze of her sleeves flowing in the air like blue wings spreading out in the wind, and she transforms into a lover lamenting for a kind of heavenly love she’ll never find.

The female singer’s smoky vocals melt seamlessly into the jazzy tang of the melody, and Alfreed lets the harmony of the song and the movements of her body fuse together as one. After the triple flip, which she lands solidly to the applause and cheering from the audience, the music — suffused with playful guitar chords and trombone slides — picks up the pace, and she prepares for the spread-eagle entry, leading to an impressive double axel-triple toe loop jump combination with incredible height and speed.

The colours blur into ribbons and the music drowns out everything else; Alfreed can feel her blood singing, her body soaring in a delirious rush of desperate passion as she seeks the answer she longs for, chases after the shadow of her friend who, like a spirit, continues to slip and escape through her fingers every time she gets too near.

Slightly out of breath, she topples precariously doing the triple axel in the second half of the program, so deductions are unavoidable in that account, and Alfreed can already imagine Narsus’ unimpressed ‘what were you thinking?’ scowl. She vaguely wonders if Layla has perfected the jump that she’d dared to try three years ago.

The melody is becoming light and sparse once more, and she concludes with a beautiful layback spin that shows off the elegant arch of her back as her skirt flares out in waves from the momentum, skating to a stop in her final pose when the tinkling notes float and dissipate into the roaring ovation from the crowds.

Everything aches: muscles, feet, bones, the raw, clawed out emptiness in her heart, and she’ll have to do it again tomorrow at the free skate event. She pushes the stray locks of her hair back and away from sticking onto her sweaty cheeks as she joins Narsus at the kiss and cry area and awaits her score.

“I would yell at you for that terrible posture during the triple axel…” Narsus murmurs as he smiles brilliantly for the camera pointing at him.

“I know you would,” Alfreed interrupts without a hitch, her eyes trained on the scoreboard.

“But I’m not going to,” he concludes, a little smug.

“Oh? This is new,” Alfreed looks over at him, and then she immediately narrows her eyes with suspicion, “Wait, am I in a different kind of trouble?”

Narsus’ answer is halted by the announcement of Alfreed’s score: her season’s best SP score yet, which lands her in the first place with six more skaters to go.

“You knew she’s here — your… friend,” Narsus only hesitates a little at the end of his statement.

Alfreed has only told him in the briefest manner about her friendship with Layla when they first met, but what she’d said to him three years ago — right after World Championships had ended, and Alfreed had come running to him asking for the choreographer, who has been a decorated figure skater himself at the height of his achievement but has never expressed any desire to take in students, to become her coach — it was enough to convince Narsus.

The resolve in her eyes and the determined set of her mouth when she announced that she wanted to become better so that she could skate as her best friend’s equal, sharing the joy and victory together on the world stage, revealed to Narsus the potential of a young, fervent skater who so desperately wanted to improve her artistry and techniques for the sake of friendship.

He’ll never admit this, but at the time, Narsus thought Alfreed really reminded him of his younger self: awfully reckless and full of the kind of ideals and tenacity to the sport and art of figure skating. It’s a part of him that gradually fizzles out as he grows older and becomes too docile, too complacent.

Alfreed nods without a word as they walk around the side of the ice rink, out through the passageway, and into the hallway beneath the audience stands. She plops down on one of the benches by the wall and begins to unlace her skates with quick, practiced fingers.

“What will you do?” Narsus sits down beside her and gingerly places a pair of sneakers by her skates, which she promptly slips on along with her team jacket.

She pulls herself to her feet and zips her jacket all the way up, the movement echoing a hint of ferocious flare.

“Alfreed?” Narsus picks up his students’ skates and stands up tentatively.

“I’m going to talk to Layla,” she simply says, her tone low and brittle. “I need to know what happened.”

“How? Ilterish follows her like a guard dog.”

They make for the section of the stands reserved for competitors and staff.

“He can’t possibly follow her everywhere she goes,” she snorts insolently, climbing up the stairs two at a time. Layla is the first to start in her group and she wants to find a good seat.

Glancing over at the red-haired skater and realizing that there’s nothing he can do to dissuade her from doing whatever she’s planning in her head, Narsus can only sigh in defeat.

Her left leg jiggles up and down impatiently as her thumb scrolls on her phone while they’re waiting for the ice to be resurfaced for the last six skaters; she can’t understand a word she’s seeing on the screen, but it doesn’t matter because she isn’t even sure what she’s reading in the first place.

When the six skaters finally step out onto the ice for their warm-up, Alfreed leans her entire torso over the railing and narrows her eyes in search of the familiar figure of her friend. The dark hair and towering frame is easy to spot amongst the slighter-built skaters: donned in an asymmetrical dress with one long sleeve covering her right arm and showing bare, olive-toned skin of her left, the fabric a subdued gradient of black from her neckline to bright red along the edge of her skirt with delicate silver jewels sewn into an intricate pattern, and short hair combed back with a single purple pansy flower hairpin, Layla Kassem stands out with her presence.

It’s difficult to tell from this distance, but Alfreed is sure that Layla has grown quite a lot taller over the years they haven’t seen each other; her limbs develop elegant, powerful lines of lean muscles, and she exudes cool confidence as she perfectly does a triple axel with the ease and grace of a veteran skater.

At last, the announcer is introducing the first skater, and Layla glides one lap on the ice before she locks into her starting position at the left end of the rink.

Alfreed’s attention is solely focused on the lone figure on the ice — the excitement of finally seeing Layla perform live for the first time in three years overwhelms the dawning fear of having to confront her after the event. For now, she just wants to watch her friend skate.

And skate she did: beautifully, perfectly, not a chink in her armour strengthened by the impeccable execution of all the required technical elements.

The program begins with the isolated, winding melody of a violin, the swift contrast from absolute low to rough high notes bringing Layla to stretch out into a graceful layback Ina Bauer, back arched and gliding sideways, that leads into a double axel-double toe-double loop combination.

One element after another, Layla executes each to the praise of the audience, yet it makes no difference for her.

Despite the melancholic nature of the song that seems to paint a character walking alone in the dark — restless and with nowhere to go, no place to belong — nothing on Layla’s facial expressions convey that sentiment. Her eyes, glazed green and too fierce for the piece she’s performing, only depicts hungry, roaring flames; to the skater, there is only one purpose to this program, and that is to flawlessly complete the list of challenging technical elements that will garner her the most amount of points.

With her fingers curled around the railing and her knuckles turning white, Alfreed feels a sense of unease toiling inside her chest. Even though Layla is skating without any mistakes and every movement, every tilt of her head, spread of her arms, is calculated and exact — the Kerrigan spiral that transitions into a triple loop, the various spins — her performance can only be described as cold, distant, and unfeeling.

It’s nothing like the kind of skating Alfreed remembered from when they first met.

As the song progresses, the violin melody becomes more urgent, the notes slashing through the air like caged snarls, the rhythm chaotic and vicious — violent, almost — and her step sequence and final combination spin completely mirror that.

To nobody’s surprise, Layla receives a very high score, a good eight points ahead of the person currently in second place. The other five skaters who perform after Layla don’t even come close to her standards in terms of technical skills, but Alfreed hasn’t remained in her seat long enough to find out until much later because as soon as she observes Layla leaving the kiss and cry area with her coach, she shoots off for the direction of the changing room downstairs.

With her arms crossed in front of her chest and one leg resting before the other while leaning against the stark white wall of the female changing room, Alfreed ignores the confused stares that some of the passerby staff have sent her way and replies to the brief greetings from her fellow competitors when they choose to acknowledge her on their way in or out of the room.

It’s nearly deserted when Alfreed finally spots a tall figure with a head of dark, messy curls. She waits until the last person in the room leaves, and then steadily makes her way to where Layla is sitting on a bench facing the row of lockers. She sits down beside her, with a few inches of space between them; Alfreed can’t find the strength in her to reduce that distance yet, not until she gets the answers she’s wanted for the past year.

“What the hell was that out there?” Alfreed decides to break the silence with the first question that comes to her mind. She could’ve phrased it better, but she thinks they’re beyond polite words and courteous pretense now.

“What do you mean?” Her voice is just as sweet as Alfreed remembers it, yet something is amiss in that tone — that touch of blooming spring that reminds Alfreed of revival, a new beginning, a hopeful future.

“That style of skating — that was not you at all!” She tries to control the contempt and disappointment in her voice, but it’s leaking into her words like sticky tar, a dark, disgusting coat that clings to every word that comes out of her mouth.

“And how would you know what skating style best defines me?” Layla wraps her jacket tighter around herself as she looks away.

“Maybe if you haven’t suddenly disappeared off of the face of the earth and replied to my messages once in a while, I would’ve known the answer to that and we wouldn’t even be having this ridiculous conversation right now,” Alfreed’s voice simmers between exasperation and helplessness, and it’s tearing her apart.

“Maybe there are circumstances that you don’t understand,” Layla mutters.

“Damn it,” she kicks the door of the closest locker and its slam echoes like a clap of thunder in the room, and then she whirls around to face the other girl, “then make me understand, Layla.”

“I can’t!” She sounds resolute, and she sharply turns to the red-haired skater with an agonized expression, lips pursed and eyes despondent. “I need to do everything I can to achieve my goals, and that includes… this.”

“This?” Alfreed repeats, uncomprehending.

“You,” she tries to put her sentiment into words, but with the way Alfreed is staring at her, confused and pained, it’s becoming difficult to think clearly.

“Me?” Alfreed is feeling foolish for repeating again, but there are issues that need to be clarified, and this one is currently on the top of the list.

“I had to leave you behind,” she says quietly, her fingers fiddling agitatedly in her lap.

“By ignoring me without a single, logical explanation? The Layla I thought I knew would have at least tried to talk it out first.”

“Coach Ilterish was right…” she murmurs. Everything becomes so much more complicated when Alfreed Zottī is involved, Layla has thought. Coach Ilterish was able to foresee it and was probably just being logical back then, suggesting that the earlier she cut ties with unnecessary baggage that might ruin her future, the faster and smoother her path to the top of the figure skating world would be.

“Ilterish…?” Alfreed spits out the name in distaste, “Since when did you start caring about what he said?”

“Since I started winning at competitions,” Layla’s reply has no wavering hesitation, just absolute belief, “since I started truly understanding his philosophy.”

“Oh yeah, the philosophy of treating your friends like shit in order to win,” Alfreed sneers, and even as the words slide out of her mouth, viscous and full of venom, some part of her hopes that it will infuriate Layla enough to make her stay just a bit longer.

“You can think whatever you want of me, but I’m done with this conversation,” Layla pulls herself up from the bench and begins to turn away.

“Whatever happened to keeping in touch, huh?” Alfreed has wrapped her fingers tightly around the taller girl’s bicep in a flash to stop her from moving further, and she’s pleading now, wide-eyed and crestfallen. “Whatever happened to waiting for you so we can compete in the same field? Whatever happened to standing on the podium together?”

“We aren’t kids anymore, Alfreed,” she makes no movement to retrieve her arm from the other girl’s grasp, her stance fixed as an ice sculpture, her voice just as stiff and cold, “when all of us compete in the same discipline, there can only be one person standing at the top of the podium, and I will be the one with the gold medal around my neck.”

The trace of warmth in her pale green eyes is lost to the winter frost, and Alfreed feels her friend slipping away from the tip of her fingers again as her arm drops to her side listlessly.

‘Whatever happened to us?’ Alfreed wants to ask Layla, but she’s alone in the room now, and there’s nowhere else for her to go but back to the world constructed of ice.

A/N: Err I did mention this piece will not have a happy ending, didn’t I? [sweats nervously]

Some notes about this AU here.

#arslan senki #the heroic legend of arslan #pars2017 #alfreed/layla #alfreed #layla #bowie's crappy writing

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kuuxkat · 7 years

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Kuuxkat’s guide to survive a LV

I know Wikia did one, Reddit probably did one, but now that I didn’t survive 1L, I thought I might as well throw in some pointers for those who are going to the dekayed 1LV, NA fans, this is for you~

Pre-event

1) Get your goods first, I know it’s 100% too late, but based on Rex you still have a shot at getting some 1L goods. Get your goods first because you wouldn’t want to be queuing for the entire duration before the live and the most desired goods go fast! Like super fast! We all know we want KB and T-shirts, and those will fly off their shelves.

Based on the comments on GV Cinemas, they couldn’t bring in more due to the JP side so don’t fault the Cinema’s for being unable to get more stuff.

So get your things early, during the pre-order period if it’s possible!

Else, if you’re going to queue for merch anyway, go EARLY! Queue management is really a self-policing role just like how leaks should be self-policing.

Nothing hurts more then being in the queue and being the first 20 person and get shoved to the back cause someone else is reserving seats for someone else and what you want is sold out just in front of you.

Don’t be inconsiderate to others!

Currently the cinema restricts one merch type per person to avoid the scenario where the first individual buy 20 KB in one shot for example, but rule enforcement for cutting queue varies from place to place (or it is an asian thing?) so please take note!

Be considerate! If your friends want to reserve seats, please ask them to join you in the queue. I was in the queue for second day 3 hours before sales even start and there were many people who arrived 2 hours after I did trying to cut in, only to be reported and sent to the back.

So please be considerate to everyone who arrived for the goods thirst, you wouldn’t want that to happen to you, right?

2) Get your necessities done before the LV starts, and by that I mean visit the washroom, take off all your accessories (Watch/Necklace etc), unseal all your KB and plop in new batteriesi, open up the spare batteries and keep a coin in your pocket to open the KB more efficiently, get your water filled and prepare your tickets to enter! It’s embarrassing to hold up the queue

3) Prepare medication for the LV, of course this is the assumption that you will be cheering them on like crazy (which you should) with or without wota, screaming their names or maybe singing them on.

Personally I went with two varieties, the apparently Mimorin approved Nin Jiom Herbal Candy, it’s great on the throat and I always use it before the live to soothe my throat from all the socialising you’ll do pre-event.

Second and a new discovery on my part was Euphon Menthol Lozenges. I picked this up to try it out and it works wonder. My throat was dead after chanting Rikyako Rikyako during Day 2 but I popped two of these and it helped tremendously.

What you want are those that you can pop more of without it drying your throat up and is convenient.

Apparently Ricola helps too so it’s really personal preference.

4) Keep yourself healthy and eat before the LV. The last thing you need is for your personal health to affect your performance at the live. I was half down with flu during Day 1 and it almost killed me at the end of Day 1 as I sang along at the end. So sleep early the previous day and make sure you are at top condition! Due to the nature of Wota you’ll be sweating buckets and that might worsen your condition. You should eat because you’ll burn lots of energy too so don’t starve yourself!

5) Practise Wota before the Live. I mean this seriously and with a KB in hand so that your body can adapt to the movements and the weight of it.

It matters cause Wota takes alot of stamina and even if it‘s generally 3 songs before an intermission that allows you to take a break, wota-ing will be taxing, especially if you want to do it for the whole concert.

Romeo Furi is particularly tough as compared to Normal Furi and as you’ll be doing other chants like PPPH and etc, you don’t want to be caught off guard.

You wouldn’t want to stop half way during a song would you? My left arm is still covered with all sorts of patches as it went numb after Day 2 when I woke up this morning. I’m totally out of shape... but at least I lasted the entire concert, I did wota-practise every day for a week before 1L with the KB standing up. It really helped me lots.

I suffered during day 2 cause I wasn’t used to holding 2 KB in each hand... but I eventually got the hang of it.

6) Mores the company, and tickets should be bought before the LV.

Seriously if you haven’t bought tickets before the event, you’ll be disappointed as there might not be seats, the seats might not be as good and you might not be with the best company.

Preferred seats are at the back and in the middle as that provides the best view and allows you to Wota to the max as all the hardcore fans would be there.

If you can get a friend with you, that’s even better as LV is a team effort. I was with Lary and another friend of mine and we helped each other for the entire LV before, during and after.

You have no idea how reassuring it is to have people that can help you and of course coordinate their wota with.

If you are able to meet with people before the event, that’s even better as the hype train will continue and get you all pumped for LV.

Lastly, even if you are alone, the person beside you will be your best friend during the LV so be friendly and try to engage them too as it makes it more fun. I made a few new friends during the LV before the event and even during the event, so mores the company and the more fun!

During the Event

1) Try to be on time or at least a little earlier. It might not apply for the NA crowd as they have a fixed timing, but for LV (in the future), you wouldn’t want to miss a single moment of it and you need to unpack too.

We stepped into the cinema slightly early, found our sets and unpacked by preparing our KB, setting our water bottles at the side and for me personally, slinging my towel over my shoulders so I can wipe myself better.

Being early also lets you see how the people live in Yokohama arean were already hyping up with some wota- going on.

This also allows you to do some final check of your equipment, is your KB color code installed properly and etc. Stick your KB tuner with your phone so you can reinstall it ASAP if it gets reset.

IMO: If KB dies, you’ll need to re install the color codes, but if you start losing colors or flickering, turn it off and change batteries it’ll be fine.

2) Make friends! Greet the other guy beside you and apologize for possibly hitting them. I always do that cause it’s a foregone conclusion XD I always hit someone’s kb during cheers when I get too hyped, and who knows you might even make new friends out of them.

3) If there are WOTA Gods - guys who can lead, take note of where they are, probably in front as they’ll be the ones doing the calls first so follow them as appropriate. If they aren’t, don’t lead unless you are super confident with it. The LV might not project the call chants from the audiences at the live.

4) One KB or Two KB? Or UO or KB in the first place?

It all depends on what you’re comfortable with. UOs are acceptable, and I saw a guy who broke 9 different colors and switch it all the time so it’s possible to use UOs for the concert but it’s very dim compared to KB.

There are also smaller KBs with widths that are like literally 1/4 of that of a normal Aqours KB, those are probably for those guys who want 9 on both hands.

I finished Day 1 with 2 KBs, one in each hand and I must say I enjoyed myself much more than I did with only one KB. I can’t explain it, but it just feels better XD

Another example of why 2 KB is better than 1 is during transitions, I joked that I would switch colors by dropping one KB and raising another, but somehow it worked XDDD

So decide early whether you’re going for broke with 1 KB in each hand or just gonna do it with one hand.

5) Hydrate yourself. Like seriously, drink during intermissions and if you can, drink between songs and pop your lozenges no matter what. I did that like crazy in Day 2 and I survived better, so remember to keep your throat dry.

6) Stand up? I mean seriously. You can sit during MC/Intermissions, but when the song starts, stand up and wota or just cheer them on. Sitters probably will get intimidated, but that’s how LVs are. I saw a mother bring a kid in and bail half way, at least she lasted half way? XD

As seats are at back are preferred, if you are blocked even while standing, ask if the guys in front of you are willing to trade seats cause while... you want to see it right? That’s another reason to be there early =D

After the Live

1) Thank everyone, the people behind, in front and beside you and of course the VAs even if they can’t hear you, it’s important!

2) Make sure you continue to keep yourself healthy as day 2 is ahead!

Well actually just rest well for Day 2~

This turned out to be such a huge post but I ran out steam at the end as I’m going to cry to Rikyako again...

I hope this helps those who read till this part~

#kuuxkatspeaks #first live hype #live viewing #long post

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